THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Frances  E.  Adams 

and 
Mrs*  Helen  Barr 


Tattlings  of  a  Retired  ^Politician 

Special  Limited  Political  Edition 


William  BradUy 


Tattling  s 

of  a 

Retired  Politician 

IF  Being  the  letters  (non-partisan)  of  Hon.  William 
Bradley,  Ex-Governor  and  former  veteran  of 
practical  politics,  written  to  his  friend  and  protege 
Ned,  who  is  still  busy  "carving  a  career  back  in 
the  old  state" 

BY 

FORREST  CRISSEY 

Author  of  The  Country  Boy 
WITH   FIFTY-EIGHT  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

JOHN  T.  McCUTCHEON 


Copyright, 
SAMPSON- HODGES  CO. 

Chicago 

Copyright,  1904 

THOMPSON  &>  THOMAS 

Chicago 


LOAN  STACK 

GIFT 


PS3jro<5- 


This  book  is  affectionately 

dedicated  to  my  dear  friend 

HON.  LUTHER  M.  DEARBORN 

of  Illinois 


CONTENTS 

1.  Still  Hunts  and  Stolen  Marches 19 

2.  Parable  of  the  Widow's  Mite 41 

3.  A  Million-Dollar  Bribe 59 

4.  Political  Spanks  and  Spankers 81 

5.  A  Woman  In  It 99 

6.  How  the  Dear  People  Forget 123 

7.  Puppets  and  Pulls 145 

8.  Grafters  and  Stingers 165 

9.  Quitters  and  Stayers 185 

10.  Eleventh  Hour  Surprises 205 

11.  Paying  the  Fiddler 228 

12.  Landslides  and  Storm  Centers 245 

13.  The  Glad-Hand  Brigade 269 

14.  Fights  and  Feuds 289 

15.  Trail  of  the  Serpent 307 

16.  Fruits  of  Victory 329 

17.  Love  at  First  Sight 355 

18.  At  the  Drop  of  the  Hat 383 

19.  The  Graft  and  the  Gaff 403 

20.  Flirting  with  the  Fixer 481 

21.  Kissing  by  Favor 451 

22.  The  Game  and  the  Candle . .  .473 


ILLVSTRA  TIONS 


No.    1.    William  Bradley   Frontispiece. 

No.    2.    Old  Gab  Hitchcock  knew  the  name  of  every 

baby  in  the  district 22 

No.    3.    Old    Sanctity    held    nightly   meetings    in    the 

Heart  of  Africa 29 

No.  4.  A  hatchet-faced  lawyer  with  a  Highland 
Scotch  burr  in  his  speech  rounded  up  the 
Representatives  ." 43 

No.  5.  More  statesmen  got  off  at  that  little  jerk 
water  station  than  had  ever  been  in  the 
country  before  49 

No.     6.    A   committee   of   three  legislators   waited   on 

Little  Danny's  widow 53 

No.    7.    Mike's  eyes  stood  out  of  his  head  as  he  figured 

up  his  tab:     One  million  dollars! 68 

No.  8.  "Young  man,"  said  the  Governor,  "I'd  advise 
you  to  take  better  care  of  that  scoundrel's 
money  than  you  ever  did  of  any  other 
money  in  your  life." 74 

No.     9.     "Pug"   Hansom    went    into    political    work   to 

save  himself  from  ingrowing  patriotism..     86 

No.  10.  Little  Doc  walked  into  the  room  where  the 
Big  Three  Slate-Makers  were  figuring  out 
things  93 

No.  11.     Young   Flournoy   spruced    up    amazingly,   but 

worshipped  at  a  distance 102 

No.  12.     Old  Jawbone  laid  down  the  lines  of  the  gang 

program  to  the  "boy  Speaker" 112 

No.  13.    A    smiling   usher    appeared    in    the    doorway 

followed  by  three  women 117 

No.  14.    Big  Mike  plowed  up  both  sides  of  the  street  in 

his  wrath  182 


No.  15.  With  a  fierce  grip  on  the  old  farmer's  shoul 
der,  Gumshoe  blurted  out:  "You  pious  old 
sneak-thief! "  138 

No.  16.    "It's  a  mistake,"  he  started  to  shout,  when  a 

friend  yanked  him  back  into  his  seat 152 

No.  17.  "The  state  needs  you,"  said  the  Governor,  "in 
another  capacity — and  I  shall  not  take  no 
for  an  answer" .  159 

No.  18.     "Nope,"  said  the  Hoosier,  "can't  afford  that. 

It  establishes  a  bad  precedent" 161) 

No.  19.  The  little  Hoosier  calmly  took  off  his  glasses 
and  began  to  rub  them  with  his  handker 
chief  173 

No.  20.  Instantly  the  alderman  behind  Barney  caught 
the  signal,  reached  forward  and  laid  the 
long  envelope  on  the  orator's  desk 174 

No.  21.    At  the  head  of  the  choir,  Lume  sang  a  solo 

that  made  the  sisters  wipe  their  eyes 191 

No.  22.    A  second  after  Mose  put  his  foot  on  the  wheel 

hub  he  took  out  one  of  the  special  tickets  192 

No.  23.    Tan    treated    to    one    round    of    beers    and 

solemnly  handed  each  loafer  a  dime 210 

No.  24.    Every  loyal  Irishman  saw  the  picture  of  Her 

Majesty,  Victoria    217 

No.  25.  "Right  up  to  the  last  word  of  Old  Benage  Tew's 
speech  to  the  jury  he  ignored  the  main 
iseue"  227 

No.  26.    "Then  the  woman  slowly  arose,  took  the  boy 

by  the  hand  and  walked  down  the  aisle". .  232 

No.  27.  The  Judge  held  his  head  up  just  as  high  as 
ever  when  he  took  his  dignified  walks 
about  town  240 

No.  28.    He  grabbed  the  lapels  of  his  coat  and  addressed 

the  committee   252 

No.  29.    Coin  Harvey's  book  had  supplanted  the  family 

Bible  in  thousands  of  Republican  homes..  259 


No.  30.  "1  move  we  leave  it  to  Senator  Billy;  ne 
knows  more  about  poker  than  we'll  ever 
learn"  271 

No.  31.     "Now,  son,  just  laugh  a  little  and  turn  your 

liver  over"    279 

No.  32.    The  caucus   was  called   in   Cy  Waite's   little 

lumber  office  294 

No.  33.  Dutch  John  jumped  into  a  chair  and  ha 
rangued  the  chairman  in  his  native  tongue  301 

No.  34.  "At  that  instant  my  eyes  were  studying  the 
serene  face  of  the  philanthropic  chair 
man"  298 

No.  35.     "In  fact,  the  boys  soon  began  to  call  us  The 

Three  Brothers" 31* 

No.  36.  "There  was  Joe — but  of  all  the  besotted  speci 
mens  of  drunken  humanity  I  ever  beheld 
he  was  the  worst"  316 

No.  37.  "Every  time  I  came  back  to  the  city  the  white 
face  of  that  young  woman  was  waiting  for 
me  in  the  passenger  station" 321 

No.  38.    "Let  me  go!  I've  got  to  tell  'em;  but  I'll  do  it."  322 

No.  39.    "First  square  yourself  with  His  Majesty,  the 

Speaker — and  keep  yourself  squared" 336 

No.  40.    Old    Jeremiah    Blesa   nominating    himself    for 

Speaker  of  the  House 340 

No.  41.  "No,"  replied  Speaker  Jeremiah,  "I'm  going  to 
show  that  bunch  of  smartie  school  boys 
that  there's  more  than  one  way  to  skin  a 
cat" 347 

No.  42.    The  mayor  arose  and  asked  the  privilege  of 

introducing  his  views  on  one  or  two  points  363 

No.  43.     There  were  plenty  of  fellows  hanging  around 

the  tavern  whittling 373 

No.  44.  "The  minute  I  came  out  on  the  platform  I  saw 
that  the  gang  was  planted  in  the  front 
seats"  .  377 


No.  45.    "Happy  Dave"  was  busy  telling  stories  to  a 

bunch  of  country  members 395 

No.  46.     Sugarlips   nibbled  his  toast   and   said:      "I've 

about  decided  to  make  the  race" 396 

No.  47.  Senator  Soapy  made  his  appearance  in  a  sack 
coat  and  trousers  that  would  have  made  a 
star  outfit  for  a  fakir 405 

No.  48.  "I  came  into  his  district  and  bought  a  country 
newspaper  about  the  time  he  showed  his 
head  above  the  political  waters" 415 

No.  49.     Senator  Soapy  sees  the  President  regarding  the 

Assistant  Postmaster  General 421 

No.  50.  The  "go-between"  and  the  "fixer"  at  once  rec 
ognized  each  other  by  their  carnations 438 

No.  51.  While  directing  the  "fixer's"  attention  to  the 
beauties  of  the  le:  Escape,  the  capitalist 
dropped  a  long  envelope 441 

No.  52.    The  capitalist  brazenly  counted  out  the  boodle 

without  closing  the  door 442 

No.  53.  Proceedings  were  interrupted  by  an  introduc 
tion  to  the  justice 459 

No.  54.  The  Governor  had  help  in  passing  on  legis 
lative  bills 464 

No.  55.  "I  wouldn't  insult  the  honor  of  these  gentle 
men  by  offering  them  a  bribe" 469 

No.  56.    The  Senatorial  candidate  was  overjoyed  at  the 

announcement  481 

No.  57.    "You'll  vote  for  him— and  on  the  first  ballot, 

too,  by  Mighty!" 485 

Ne.  58.     "The  little  woman  jumped  plumb  out  of  her 

seat  when  the  renegade  voted" , 486 


FOREWORD. 

For  years  the  writer  of  Tattlings  of  a  Re 
tired  Politician  has  enj^ed  a  somewhat  wide 
and  intimate  acquaintance  with  those  men 
who  play  the  game  of  politics  and  who  have, 
in  various  degrees,  demonstrated  their  skill 
and  leadership  in  that  kind  of  contest.  He 
has  listened  with  unfailing  entertainment  to 
the  anecdotes,  stories,  and  incidents  of  their 
struggles  for  place,  power  and  preferment. 
But  most  of  all  has  he  enjoyed  the  bits  of 
homely  philosophy,  the  picturesque  aphor 
isms  and  the  shrewd  observations  which  have 
dropped  from  the  lips  of  these  Americans  who, 
from  varied  and  complex  motives,  have  been 
drawn  into  the  game  of  popular  government 

To  focus  this  phase  of  American  character 
as  faithfully,  as  vividly  and  as  entertainingly 
as  possible  into  the  following  pages  has  been 
a  pleasing  and  a  fascinating  task.  Looking 

13 


FOREWORD 


back  upon  it  from  the  final  word,  the  author 
believes  that  the  actual  motives,  conditions 
and  methods  that  obtain  wherever  a  caucus  is 
held  or  a  ballot  box  opened  have  been  fairly 
portrayed  and  that  the  viewpoint  he  has  pre 
sented  is  the  one  actually  taken  by  any  Amer 
ican  who  has  had  a  wide  and  first-hand  experi 
ence  in  practical  politics. 

This  is  not  so  much  because  many  of  the 
stories  embodied  in  these  familiar  letters 
from  William  Bradley,  the  retired  political 
veteran,  to  his  friend  Ned  are  drawn  from  act 
ual  experience  and  have  a  substantial  founda 
tion  in  fact,  as  because  the  observations  of  the 
former  legislator,  Congressman,  Governor  and 
United  States  Senator  reflect  the  spirit  of  the 
practical  politician  and  reveal  his  motives, 
methods  and  characteristics. 

That  form  of  literary  expression  known  as 
the  "letter"  has  been  chosen  for  this  work 
because  it  affords  the  most  natural  medium 
for  terse,  homely  and  unconventional  expres- 

14 


FOREWORD 


sion  in  strict  keeping  with  the  character  of  the 
subject.  In  writing  to  a  familiar  friend  one 
may  go  directly  to  the  theme  in  hand  without 
formality  or  introduction;  epigram,  anecdote 
and  story  come  naturally  within  the  scope  of 
the  friendly  letter  and  the  handicap  of  conven 
tionality  is  less  upon  the  pen  of  the  writer  of 
such  a  letter  than  upon  the  hand  of  the  writer 
who  uses  any  other  literary  medium. 

During  the  serial  publication  of  a  portion 
of  the  papers  which  make  up  this  book,  the 
writer  has  been  cheered  by  expressions  of  ap 
proval  and  appreciation  from  many  men  who 
have  achieved  places  of  high  political  distinc 
tion. 

To  this  generous  and  discriminating  en 
couragement  from  such  authoritative  sources 
he  is  especially  indebted,  for  it  has  helped  him 
to  hope,  with  increased  confidence,  that,  in 
some  measure,  he  has  been  able  to  put  into  the 
letters  of  William  Bradley  something  of  the 
humor,  the  philosophy,  the  romance  and  the 

15 


FOREWORD 


tragedy  of  actual  politics  as  the  game  is 
played  in  every  portion  of  our  Republic,  and 
also  that  this  delineation  will  have  interest  for 
the  men  who  are  intimately  familiar  with  the 
game  as  well  as  for  those  for  whom  it  has  a 
touch  of  mystery. 

Sincerely, 

Forrest  Crissey. 

Chicago,  April,  1904. 


STILL-HUNTS    AND    STOLEN 
MARCHES. 

Being  the  remarks  of  "Bill" 
Bradley,  former  legislator,  congress 
man,  Governor  and  United  States 
Senator,  to  his  younger  friend  Ned, 
who  has  written  that  he  has  a  cinch 
on  a  re-election  and  that  he  proposes 
to  take  it  easy  in  this  campaign,  as 
there  is  no  need  of  hustling.  Inci 
dentally  the  retired  "party  war- 
horse  "  expresses  himself  on  the  irk- 
someness  of  "existence  by  corpor 
ate  courtesy"  and  the  delights  of 
retirement. 


TATTLINGS 

OF   A 

RETIRED    POLITICIAN 


CHAPTER  I. 

STILL-HUNTS  AND  STOLEN  MARCHES. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

Of  course  I'm  glad  that  nothing  short  of  an 
epidemic  of  sudden  death  can  shut  you  out  of  a 
re-election.  It's  good  to  be  comfortably  sure 
about  things  of  this  sort. 

But  my  observation  reminds  me  that  straight 
roads  to  the  State  House  have  an  amazing  way 
of  wandering  off  into  the  underbrush  and  that 
public  sentiment  can  blow  more  different  ways, 
at  one  and  the  same  time,  than  the  flame  of  a 
campaign  torch  in  a  Fall  wind.  Any  good, 
average  ballot-box  has  thrown  down  more 
cock-sure  men  than  ever  won  election  bets  or 

19 


TATTLINGS  OF 


saw  the  man  that  struck  Billy  Patterson.  And 
you  may  draw  sight  drafts  against  the  fact 
that  when  there's  a  whole  lot  depending  on  one 
of  these  Heaven-insured  "  certainties "  it's 
time  to  get  scared  and  hustle. 

The  man  who  lies  down  and  goes  to  sleep 
on  the  soft  side  of  a  political  cinch  stands  a 
good  chance  of  waking  up  just  in  time  to  see 
his  hide  nailed  to  the  barn  door  by  the  fellow 
who  couldn't  sleep  because  he  had  to  whistle 
in  the  face  of  expected  defeat  in  order  to  keep 
his  courage  up. 

Perhaps  you've  forgotten  the  story  of  "  Old 
Gab  "  Hitchcock,  down  in  Hebron  County.  He 
got  his  name  from  his  "  gift  of  gab  "  on  the 
auction  block.  There  hadn't  been  a  sale  "  at 
public  vendue  "  in  his  territory  for  thirty  years 
at  which  he  hadn't  officiated.  .He  could  talk 
the  burrs  right  off  the  back  of  a  Southdown 
sheep ;  but  there  were  two  subjects  on  which 
he  was  as  silent  as  a  tombstone. 

Politics  and  religion  tied  knots  in  his  tongue 
and  when  they  were  mentioned  he  closed  up 
tight.  But  he  knew  the  name  of  every  baby 

20 


Old  Gab    Hitchcock  knew    the 
name  of  every  baby  in  the  district. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

in  the  three  counties  that  he  traveled  and  how 
many  teeth  each  youngone  had  cut  up  to  the 
time  of  his  last  call ;  he  never  failed  to  remem 
ber  the  special  brand  of  cookery  on  which  each 
housewife  was  particularly  strong,  and  even 
the  savagest  dogs  wagged  their  tails  in  a 
friendly  way  when  Old  Gab  rode  in  at  the  front 
bars. 

But  when  it  came  to  politics,  everybody 
counted  the  auctioneer  out  and  considered  that 
he  didn't  cut  any  figure.  In  fact,  being  a  Re 
publican,  he  seldom  took  the  trouble  to  vote, 
as  Democrats  were  thicker  in  his  district  than 
thistles,  and  voting  was  mighty  discouraging 
exercise.  He  said  he  was  glad  he  was  on  the 
off  side  and  belonged  to  the  "  hopeless  minor 
ity,"  because  it  saved  him  the  bother  of  going 
to  caucuses  and  the  polls,  knowing  that  his 
party  didn't  stand  any  more  chance  to  get  out 
alive  than  a  national  prohibition  bill  in  Con 
gress. 

One  Winter,  as  you  will  remember,  there 
was  a  deadlock  in  the  legislature  on  the  elec 
tion  of  a  United  States  Senator.  An  actual 


TATTLINGS  OF 


gain  of  one  vote  on  the  Republican  side  would 
have  settled  it;  but  sometimes  one  bird  is 
harder  to  bag  than  a  whole  flock  on  other  oc 
casions — and  this  was  one  of  those  times! 

Day  after  day,  and  month  after  month,  the 
thing  hung  fire.  All  that  money  and  pull  and 
poker  and  highballs  could  do  had  been  done — 
and  still  the  joint  ballot  stuck  at  the  same  old 
figure!  The  shiftiest  campaigners  that  ever 
cracked  the  party  whip  had  done  their  best  and 
couldn't  budge  the  count.  Every  dark  horse 
in  each  party  had  his  ears  pricked  up  and  was 
ready  to  snort  like  a  freight  engine  the  minute 
there  was  a  sign  of  a  break.  But  no  sign  was 
given,  and  the  big  bosses  simply  held  on,  wait 
ing  for  something  to  happen  and  lift  the  spell. 

And,  finally,  it  happened  all  right!  One 
morning  the  member  from  Hebron  County 
was  found  dead  in  his  bed.  That  left  the  situa 
tion  just  where  it  was  before,  for  the  Repub 
licans  still  lacked  one  vote  of  enough  to  elect 
and  the  Democrats  had  a  three-to-one  cinch 
on  electing  the  member  to  fill  the  vacancy. 

A  special  election  was  called,  but  the  Re- 

24 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

publican  newspapers  sorrowfully  announced 
that  there  was  no  more  hope  of  defeating  the 
enemy  in  the  Hebron  district  than  of  raising 
the  late  lamented  to  life.  And  the  minority 
party  didn't  take  interest  enough  in  the  con 
test  to  name  a  candidate — simply  conceded 
the  whole  thing  to  the  Democrats  and  lay 
down  without  a  kick.  Of  course,  that  was  in 
the  days  before  the  new-fangled  Australian  bal 
lot  had  entered  its  appearance  on  the  state 
statutes. 

Spring  plowing  opened  up  particularly  early 
that  year  and  the  contest  for  the  United  States 
Senatorship  had  dragged  along  through  the 
Winter  until  it  had  become  an  old  story. 

Generally  speaking,  there  was  more  interest 
in  the  farming  counties  in  getting  in  a  new 
crop  than  in  sending  a  new  Senator  to  Wash 
ington. 

About  that  time,  down  in  the  Hebron  dis 
trict,  auction  sales  fell  off  to  such  an  extent 
that  Old  Gab  Hitchcock  had  to  take  to  ship 
ping  cattle  in  order  to  keep  up  his  end,  and  he 
did  a  right  smart  bit  of  riding  in  his  new  call- 

25 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ing.  There  wasn't  a  road  in  Hebron  or  the 
adjoining  counties  that  he  didn't  travel  and 
he  managed  to  pick  up  an  amazing  number  of 
shipments  of  likely  cattle  for  the  Chicago  mar 
ket. 

When  the  special  election  day  came  he  was 
out  in  the  back  towns  buying  stock,  and  most 
of  the  farmers  of  the  district  were  walking  in 
furrows  behind  their  plows.  They  knew  that 
their  candidate,  the  Democrat,  had  a  copper- 
riveted  cinch  on  the  election,  for  there  was  no 
one  running  against  him.  So  they  stuck  to 
their  Spring  plowing  and  made  the  most  of  the 
fine  weather. 

But  about  4  o'clock  that  afternoon,  the  Re 
publican  voters  began  to  rattle  out  of  the  back 
towns  as  if  the  woods  were  on  fire.  It  took 
an  hour  for  the  Democrats  at  the  polling  places 
to  get  their  systems  permeated  with  the  sus 
picion  that  something  was  doing — and  by  the 
time  they  had  waked  up,  it  was  all  done ! 

They  sent  out  an  alarm  to  the  Faithful,  but 
before  the  stay-at-homes  could  pull  their  boots 
on  and  hitch  up  the  teams,  the  polls  had  closed. 

26 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

There  wasn't  even  time  to  put  up  a  counting- 
out  scheme — and  when  the  ballots  were  count 
ed  a  district  of  frantic  Democrats  faced  the 
fact  that  foxy  Old  Gab  Hitchcock  had  been 
elected  to  the  legislature  on  the  Republican 
ticket. 

The  first  day  he  took  fyis  seat  he  settled  the 
United  States  Senatorship — and  went  out  of 
the  auction  business  for  keeps !  The  party,  as 
you  know,  has  taken  good  care  of  him  ever 
since,  and  he  doesn't  care  how  many  babies  are 
cutting  teeth  back  in  old  Hebron,  either! 

Then,  again,  after  you've  hustled  hard  and 
got  everything  into  your  wigwam,  snug  and 
tight,  you  can't  be  sure  that  the  other  fellow 
will  not  sneak  in,  over  night,  and  stampede  all 
your  braves. 

If  you  don't  think  this  is  true,  remember  the 
history  of  Old  Sanctity,  who  tried  to  break  into 
politics  up  in  the  city,  from  Little  Danny's 
ward.  There  was  a  healthy  colored  popula 
tion  in  that  ward  and  the  old  man  had  been 
running  a  mission  Sunday  School  and  private 
bureau  of  charity  so  long  there  that  he  thought 

27 


TATTLINGS  OF 


it  was  easy.  He  wanted  to  shine  as  a  white- 
enamel  reformer,  and  so  he  opened  the  cam 
paign  early  and  held  meetings  every  night  in 
the  Heart  of  Africa.  To  all  appearances,  he 
had  the  whole  colony  spellbound,  and  it  looked 
as  if  he  would  carry  the  Dark  Continent  with 
a  whoop. 

There  wasn't  enough  political  guile  in  the 
old  man  to  keep  him  from  opening  a  mass 
meeting  with  family  prayers,  and  it  was  all  his 
campaign  committee  could  do  to  get  postage 
funds  and  hall  rent  out  of  him.  At  his  final 
pow-wow  fully  three  hundred  kinky-haired 
voters  were  present. 

Old  Sanctity,  as  the  boys  called  him,  dis 
missed  the  meeting  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction 
and  the  feeling  that  the  Mission  School  had 
been  vindicated  as  a  political  power. 

But  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  Little 
Danny  had  stationed  a  few  business  agents 
whose  pockets  bulged  with  half  dollars.  An 
hour  later  the  whole  dusky  gang  was  gathered 
at  a  banquet  of  pork  chops  and  fried  chicken, 
across  the  street,  and  every  guest  at  the  board 


1 


Sanctity  keif  nightly  meet 
ings  in  the  heart  of  Africa. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

had  one  of  Danny's  fifty-cent  pieces  in  his 
pocket.  After  the  votes  were  counted  Old 
Sanctity  hardly  knew  whether  he  had  been  a 
candidate  or  not. 

Of  course  it  wasn't  clean  politics  for  Danny 
to  do  this,  and  I  only  mention  it  to  point  the 
moral  that  certainties  in  politics  are  about  as 
slippery  propositions  as  greased  pigs  at  county 
fairs,  and  that  is  isn't  safe  to  carry  elections 
on  the  somnambulistic  basis. 

There's  a  good  deal  more  human  nature  than 
patriotism  in  the  average  citizen  and  when  you 
bill  him  on  any  other  valuation  you're  going 
to  have  a  big  shrinkage  in  the  ballot  box. 

Livery  hire  and  hustlers  are  cheap  in  com 
parison  with  eloquence  and  exalted  hopes,  and 
the  man  who  calculates  to  keep  in  politics  and 
come  out  on  the  heavy  side  of  the  polling  list 
would  better  make  up  his  mind  to  spend  his 
money  for  buggy  grease  before  the  polls  close 
instead  of  saving  it  for  red  fire  and  Roman 
candles  with  which  to  celebrate  his  election. 

So,  Ned,  if  you've  decided  to  take  things 
easy,  and  let  the  campaign  "  take  care  of  it- 


TATTLINGS  OF 


self  "  this  time,  as  your  letter  suggests,  it  will 
not  be  necessary  to  wire  me  that  the  enemy  put 
up  a  still  hunt  or  there  has  been  an  unaccount 
able  landslide  "  owing  to  a  revulsion  of  senti 
ment  on  national  issues,"  and  that  you  have 
gone  down  as  a  victim  of  the  revolt  of  the 
people  against  the  "  stubborn  attitude  of  the 
party  leaders  on  the  tariff  question."  I'll  un 
derstand,  without  this,  that  youVe  been  catch 
ing  up  on  the  sleep  you  lost  in  the  other  cam 
paigns. 

You  want  to  know  if  I  don't  sometimes  have 
a  hankering  for  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt  and 
long  to  take  a  little  hand  in  politics  out  here. 
Not  by  a  jug  full!  A  fellow  who  has  put  in 
the  best  years  of  his  life  in  the  political  game 
and  has  been  state  legislator,  Congressman, 
Governor  and  United  States  Senator  and  re 
tired  when  he  didn't  have  to  isn't  going  out 
to  a  new  country  and  begin  the  game  all  over 
again — not  at  my  time  of  life.  I'm  out  of  it 
for  good  and  all.  I'm  just  a  plain  man  and 
elected  for  life,  too ! 

You  remember  how  old  General  Gully  used 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

to  look  when  he  came  out  to  the  annual  en 
campment  ball  in  full  regalia,  with  his  breast 
hung  with  badges  and  medals  so  thick  they 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  pinned  on  with  a 
choke-bore  shotgun?  Well;  one  day  when  I 
was  cleaning  up  to  get  out  of  the  Executive 
Chamber,  I  struck  the  "  Frank  and  Pass  De 
partment  "  of  my  desk.  Just  for  fun,  I  pinned 
those  badges  of  corporate  courtesy  on  the  front 
of  my  coat.  Alongside  the  picture  which  I 
made,  old  Gully  would  have  looked  as  inno 
cent  of  decorations  as  an  eel.  It  made  me 
squirm  with  shame  as  I  looked  in  the  glass  and 
actually  saw  that  I  had  been  simply  an  offi 
cial  scrapbook  for  petty  corporation  favors. 

By  checking  up  I  found  that  I  did  not  hold 
a  frank  entitling  me  to  breathe  through  the 
courtesy  of  a  corporation. 

Perhaps  you  don't  recall  how  the  harness  of 
official  favors  used  to  gall  me.  Let  me  refresh 
your  memory.  Of  course  you  remember  John 
Bent,  the  "  hired  hand  "  member  from  Cot- 
tonwood  Corners.  All  through  the  first  session 
he  sat  over  at  the  Speaker's  right,  surrounded 

33 


TATTLINGS  OF 


by  the  gang  that  came  down  from  the  city. 
When  they  found  out  that  he  was  only  a  farm 
hand,  the  boys  who  were  running  things  priced 
him  at  about  two  hundred  and  fifty.  Little 
Danny  was  told  off  to  fix  John  for  the  Electric 
bill.  He  never  did  give  the  particulars  of  his 
interview,  but  he  put  it  plain  that  for  all  time 
to  come  it  would  be  safe  to  pass  up  the  farm 
hand  and  put  him  down  on  the  other  side  with 
out  any  special  effort  to  "  see  "  him. 

Bent  didn't  introduce  but  one  bill  in  the 
whole  session  and  that  was  killed  quicker  than 
a  water  snake  in  a  swimming  hole.  From  that 
time  on,  the  member  from  Cottonwood  Corners 
had  just  one  interest  in  legislation:  to  know 
what  bills  were  off  color  and  vote  against  them. 
He  didn't  make  a  single  speech  or  offer  a  reso 
lution  ;  but  he  could  spot  a  crooked  streak  be 
hind  a  bill  as  quick  as  he'd  smell  a  taint  in  a 
batch  of  butter.  That  was  enough  for  Bent. 
Whatever  happened,  one  thing  was  sure :  John 
would  "  vote  right." 

I  don't  know  that  he  made  any  particular 

34 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

profession  of  religion  but  he  stood  square  on 
everything  according  to  the  gospel  rule,  with 
out  a  shadow  of  turning. 

Although  he  didn't  give  it  out  through  the 
papers,  he  actually  returned  all  passes  and 
franks  and  he  didn't  ask  for  the  appointment  of 
a  single  committee  clerk  or  assistant  janitor. 
All  he  did  was  to  "  vote  right,"  and  he  came 
back  again  for  three  terms. 

I  used  to  sit  there  and  envy  the  man  from 
Cottonwood,  who  had  no  sails  to  trim,  no 
measures  to  push,  no  backs  to  scratch. 

One  day  I  pointed  him  out  to  you  and  said: 
"  There's  about  the  only  '  real  man  '  here." 

You  know  I've  kept  my  "  hands  clean,"  Ned, 
but  like  the  boy  in  the  story,  I've  had  to  band 
age  them  and  tie  them  to  the  bedpost  a  good 
many  times  to  do  it.  And  when  it  comes  to 
trimming  sails — well,  I  have  a  training  that 
would  fit  me  for  Commodore  on  a  Cup  Chal 
lenger. 

But  it's  all  over  now!  I'm  going  to  bow 
the  knee  to  no  living  person  excepting  the  wife 

35 


TATTLINGS  OF 


and  the  house  servants.  The  rest  of  the  world 
will  get  its  toes  tramped  on  whenever  the  hu 
mor  takes  me. 

And  you  can  put  it  down  on  the  title  page, 
old  boy,  that  hereafter  I'm  going  to  pay  the 
freight — and  pay  it  in  hard  money !  No  more 
"  existence  by  courtesy  "  for  me! 

Some  time,  perhaps,  you'll  come  out  from 
among  them,  too,  and  be  separate,  return  your 
passes  and  taste  the  joy  of  being  able  to  pay 
for  what  you  get — like  the  men  who  sign  the 
passes  and  put  up  the  campaign  funds. 

But  if  you're  determined  to  play  the  game 
to  the  finish,  you  know  you  can  count  on  me 
for  any  side-lights  I  can  give.  Unless  you 
get  out  voluntarily,  I  want  to  see  you  win 
out;  and  every  forward  step  in  your  ca 
reer  will  give  me  as  much  pleasure  as  it  will 
you.  I  guess  I  don't  need  to  say  that,  do  I, 
Ned? 

By  the  way,  are  you  still  keeping  company 
with  Kate  Hamming?  or  have  you  switched 
to  the  young  widow?  From  some  of  the  let- 

36 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

ters  that  come  to  the  wife,  I  figure  that  politics 
isn't  the  only  game  that  interests  you.    Come 
now,  'fess  up  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it! 
Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


PARABLE   OF  THE   WIDOW'S 
MITE. 


In  which  the  retired  politician 
writes  to  his  younger  friend  Ned, 
who  is  still  in  the  political  harness, 
giving  a  few  practical  pointers  on 
the  game  of  "  Legislative  Poker," 
otherwise  known  as  graft 


CHAPTER  II. 
PARABLE  OF  THE  WIDOW'S  MITE. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

I  see  by  the  papers  that  things  are  doing  in 
the  franchise  line  at  the  legislature,  this  Win 
ter,  and  that  you  stand  a  good  chance  of  lifting 
the  mortgage  off  your  place  if  you  practice  a 
little  statesmanlike  economy. 

But,  as  you  never  were  any  good  at  Legis 
lative  Poker,  I  conclude  that  it  may  strike  you 
as  a  little  late  to  come  into  the  game,  now. 

However,  if  you  should  be  tempted  to  take 
a  hand,  let  me  give  you  the  tip  to  remember 
the  modern  Parable  of  the  Widow's  Mite  and 
keep  in  mind  that  this  is  the  great  day  of  Con 
solidation.  Both  these  observations  point  the 
same  moral :  "  A  bribe  in  the  hand  is  worth 
two  in  the  safe-deposit  vault — to  which  the 
other  fellow  holds  the  key !  " 

Probably  you  have  forgotten  the  little  epi 
sode  of  the  Widow's  Mite.  It  happened  that 

41 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Winter  when  the  Red  School  House  issue  left 
you  at  home,  along  with  several  other  rural 
statesmen,  to  fodder  the  stock  and  reflect  on 
the  heartless  ingratitude  of  the  average  coun 
try  constituency. 

Up  to  that  time  every  corporation  tub  had 
stood  on  its  own  bottom  and  the  "  attorney  " 
of  each  franchise  grabbing  scheme  had  settled 
his  own  score  in  his  own  way.  But  at  the  open 
ing  of  that  session  the  lobbyists  were  thicker 
than  rabbits  in  a  tree-nursery  and  the  boys  had 
their  pockets  enlarged  to  the  size  of  meal  sacks 
in  order  to  take  care  of  the  prospective  shake 
down. 

They  had  just  begun  to  get  out  their  clubs — 
in  the  shape  of  bills  to  regulate  the  powers  and 
emoluments  of  the  various  corporations,  when 
a  hatchet-faced  lawyer,  with  a  Highland  Scotch 
burr  in  his  speech,  entered  his  appearance  and 
made  a  quick  round-up  of  the  representatives 
of  the  corporate  interests  and  vested  rights  of 
the  state.  He  wouldn't  so  much  as  whistle  a 
psalm-tune  on  Sunday,  but  he  could  dispose 

42 


A  hatchet-faced  lawyer  with  a 
Highland  Scotch  burr  in  his  speech, 
rounded  up  the  Representatives. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

of  more  smooth  business  on  week  days  than  an 
axle-grease  factory. 

It  was  said  that  the  Gas  Company  had 
brought  him  on  from  New  York  to  put  through 
the  consolidation  bill.  Anyhow,  he  took  to  the 
Consolidation  Idea  easier  than  his  ancestors 
did  to  golf  and  Scotch  Whiskey. 

The  morning  after  the  Lairds  of  the  Lobby 
had  met  in  his  room,  the  word  was  passed  down 
the  line,  among  the  boys,  that  things  were 
going  to  be  done  on  a  brand  new  basis;  that 
the  great  Consolidation  Idea  was  the  order  of 
the  day  and  that  it  was  a  Good  Thing. 

Then  the  fellows  who  were  running  things 
in  both  houses  were  told  to  get  together  on  the 
close-communion  basis  and  be  ready  to  take 
care  of  all  business  bearing  the  consolidation 
tag  that  came  along. 

Old  Hi'  in  the  Senate  and  Little  Danny  in 
the  House  gave  it  out  that  everything  was 
fixed  and  that  every  man  who  climbed  into  the 
band  wagon  would  get  his  proper  share  of  the 
great  consolidation  water  melon — and  that  it 

45 


TATTLINGS  OF 


was  to  be  the  biggest  ever  set  up  in  the  history 
of  legislation. 

This  time,  so  they  told  the  boys,  things  were 
going  to  be  handled  so  slick  that  there  weren't 
going  to  be  any  stray  seeds  scattered  around 
to  make  talk  on  the  part  of  pestering  reformers 
and  newspapers.  For  this  reason  the  melon 
was  going  to  be  put  away  on  ice  until  the  close 
o£  the  session — when  it  would  be  carved  the 
week  after  adjournment. 

Little  Danny  was  appointed  custodian  of  the 
melon  fund,  and  he  passed  out  the  word  that 
he  had  it  put  away  snug  and  tight. 

Every  man  knew  the  size  of  the  piece  he  was 
to  get  at  the  end  of  the  session,  and  all  stood 
pat  on  the  agreement  and  delivered  the  goods 
or  roll  call,  without  flinching. 

Day  after  day  little  Danny  grew  thinner  and 
yellower.  But  he  kept  up  on  whiskey,  increas 
ing  the  dose  as  the  session  drew  to  a  close.  In 
the  last  days  he  was  as  shaky  as  a  new-born 
calf ;  but  he  hung  on  like  grim  death  and  kept 
the  boys  in  close  line. 

Of  course  most  of  the  loaded  bills  were 

46 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

rushed  through  with  a  whoop  in  the  last  week 
of  night  sessions,  and  mighty  few  of  the  mem 
bers  wasted  much  time  in  sleep.  So,  when 
the  whole  thing  was  over,  all  agreed  to  go 
home  and  rest  up  for  three  days  before  divid 
ing  the  spoils.  Then  they  were  to  meet  in  the 
city,  in  Little  Danny's  office,  and  carve  that 
melon. 

But,  the  second  morning  after  adjournment, 
the  Honorables  of  the  state  were  jolted  out  of 
bed  by  the  news  that  Little  Danny  had  dropped 
dead  in  his  own  home. 

His  funeral  looked  like  a  joint  session  of  the 
House  and  Senate,  and  there  were  more  states 
men  among  the  mourners  of  Little  Danny  than 
ever  will  be  got  together  again  outside  the 
cover  of  a  capitol  dome. 

For  the  next  few  weeks  the  black-eyed  wid 
ow  of  Little  Danny  held  a  continuous  recep 
tion.  Finally  she  closed  the  house  and  re 
treated  to  her  father's  home  up  in  The  Patch, 
three  miles  away  from  a  railroad,  in  a  back 
township.  But  the  tide  of  emigration,  on  free 
passes,  followed  her,  and  more  distinguished 

47 


TATTLINGS  OF 


statesmen  got  off  at  that  little  jerkwater  sta 
tion  while  she  was  there  than  had  ever  been 
in  the  county  before. 

She  broke  all  the  records  of  widowhood  on 
the  score  of  delicate  attentions  from  men  who 
were  entitled  to  write  Honorable  in  front  of 
their  names. 

When  one  legislator  met  another  he  grinned 
sheepishly  and  asked: 

"  Seen  the  widow?  "  or  "  What's  the  news 
from  the  Lady  in  Black?  " 

Finally,  it  filtered  along  down  the  line  that 
Mrs.  Danny  had  found  a  key  in  the  trousers 
of  the  deceased  and  that  in  the  safe  deposit 
box  which  it  fitted  she  had  discovered  a  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars.  Danny  had  often  told 
her,  she  said,  that  he  had  made  some  good  in 
vestments  and  a  lucky  strike  or  two  on  the 
stock  market  and  had  salted  down  a  snug  sum. 

While  she  coyly  admitted  that  she  was  a 
little  surprised  at  the  size  of  the  pile  that 
Danny  had  saved,  she  was  not  wholly  unpre 
pared  for  the  shock.  It  was  only  his  quiet  way 
of  providing  for  his  family!  In  fact  he  had,  in 


More  statesmen  got  off  at  that 
little  jerk-water  station  than  had 
ever  been  ir>  the  county  before. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

almost  his  last  words,  told  her,  she  said,  that 
she'd  find  enough  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the 
door  after  he  was  gone. 

At  last  the  anxious  attendants  upon  the  de 
mure  and  tearful  little  widow  held  a  grand 
pow-wow  to  see  what  was  to  be  done. 

The  first  item  of  regular  business  transacted 
at  the  meeting  was  to  formulate  a  water-proof 
lie  for  the  widow's  benefit,  to  the  effect  that 
Danny  had  been  the  custodian  of  a  pool  fund 
with  which  he  had  speculated  successfully  and 
that  the  money  in  the  safe  deposit  vault  repre 
sented  the  principal  and  profits  of  the  ven 
ture  in  which  all  were  to  share. 

All  agreed  to  this  except  one  young  man. 
He  stood  out.  Then  some  one  happened  to 
get  a  hunch  that  he  was  the  only  unmarried 
man  in  the  combination.  It  was  plain  that  he 
had  intentions  on  the  widow  and  planned  to 
copper  the  whole  pile  by  a  matrimonial  coup. 
The  rest  of  the  gang  made  short  work  of  him. 
They  found  out  that  he  was  engaged  to  a  girl 
in  his  district.  Then  they  called  him  into  open 
meeting  and  gave  him  just  a  week  in  which  to 


TATTLINGS  OF 


get  out  the  invitations — told  him  that  if  he 
didn't  make  good  at  the  altar  on  schedule  time 
the  young  lady  would  get  a  round-robin,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  giving  him  a  character 
that  would  last  the  rest  of  his  life. 

He  came  to  taw  quick,  but  inferred  that  he 
should  expect  to  be  handsomely  remembered 
by  his  friends  on  the  happy  occasion.  And  he 
was.  He  received  enough  pickle  castors,  web  - 
footed  cake  forks,  spoons  and  table  ware  to 
stock  the  best  jewelry  store  the  little  town  had 
ever  seen — and  he  opened  business  right  away 
after  the  honeymoon.  The  other  fellows 
thought  they  had  done  something  mighty  slick. 

Then  a  committee  of  three  legislators  waited 
on  the  widow.  They  thought  she'd  cry  and 
then  compromise,  for  she  was  too  wise  not  to 
know  what  Danny  had  been  up  to.  But  she 
didn't.  She  simply  stood  pat — told  them  she'd 
fight  their  claim  to  finish  in  open  court.  That 
settled  it.  The  boys  swallowed  their  grief, 
cursed  the  great  Consolidation  Scheme  and 
threw  up  the  sponge. 

From  that  time  the  relict  of  Little  Danny 


A  committee  of  three  legislators 
waited  on  Little  Danny's  widow. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

was  the  most  offensively  cheerful  widow  in  ten 
states — especially  whenever  she  happened  to 
meet  any  of  his  old  comrades  of  the  session. 

So  you  see,  Ned,  that  the  old  C.  O.  D.  plan  is 
the  only  safe  one.  If  the  modern  siren  of  Con 
solidation  tempts  you,  remember  the  parable 
of  the  Widow's  Mite  and  stand  out. 

Seriously,  old  man,  wouldn't  it  be  a  revela 
tion  to  the  dear  Trustful  People  if  they  could 
trepan  a  legislature  and  see  what's  going  on 
under  the  skull  of  their  Honorable  Representa 
tives?  Just  to  uncover  the  real  "  works  "  and 
watch  the  secret  wheels  of  legislation  go  round 
for  the  last  days  of  a  session  would  make  them 
throw  bricks  at  every  state  house  in  the  coun 
try  and  put  up  signs  over  every  Senate  and 
House  reading:  "This  place  has  changed 
hands!" 

Things  weren't  so  bad  when  we  started  in 
— and  thank  God  I  got  out  of  it  before  the 
boodle  disease  became  universally  epidemic! 
I  couldn't  look  my  old  dog  Bluff  in  the  eye  if  I'd 
been  mixed  up  in  that  sort  of  mess,  Ned,  and 
I'd  rather  catch  my  son  stealing  scab  sheep 

55 


TATTLINGS  OF 


than  see  him  elected  to  a  legislature.     And 
that's  honest,  too ! 

In  the  course  of  time  I  hope  to  live  down 
the  fact  that  I  once  held  a  seat  in  the  lower 
House,  back  in  the  old  state.  But  I'll  have  to 
raise  a  good  many  chickens  and  fancy  cattle 
out  here  on  the  ranch  before  I'll  quite  get  the 
taste  out  of  my  mouth ! 

Write  when  you  get  time  and  let  me  know  if 
you're  still  in  the  strait  and  narrow  path. 

You'll  be  less  lonesome  for  writing  if  you  are 
hanging  to  the  old-fashioned  notions  of  square 
politics  with  which  we  started  in. 

I  see  that  you  are  inclined  to  hedge  in  an 
swering  my  question  regarding  Kate  and  the 
widow.  To  my  mind  that's  as  good  as  a  frank 
confession  that  the  young  widow  is  in  the 
lead,  for  there's  nothing  that  quite  equals  a 
blooming  young  widow,  in  a  heart-to-heart 
campaign,  excepting  a  younger  and  handsomer 
widow.  I  shall  expect  to  hear  something  from 
you  besides  glittering  generalities  on  this 
score.  Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 

56 


A    MILLION    DOLLAR    BRIBE. 

Wherein  William  Bradley  offers 
Ned  his  ideas  of  the  kind  of  moral 
backbone  that  is  entitled  to  flowers, 
speaks  his  mind  on  the  subject  of 
official  temptations  and  tells  how 
"  Old  Cal "  Peavey  acquitted  him 
self  under  the  offer  of  a  million  dol 
lar  bribe. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  MILLION  DOLLAR  BRIBE. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

No  doubt  the  new  Governor  is  all  of  the 
moral  athlete  you  set  him  up  to  be;  but  some 
how  I  can't  quite  go  into  spasms  of  enthusiasm 
over  the  chief  executive  of  a  great  state  who 
allows  his  friends  to  cackle  like  a  bevy  of 
Shanghai  pullets  simply  because  he  has  man 
aged  to  turn  down  a  temptation  that  a  Chi 
cago  alderman  would  scorn.  Of  course  it  was 
a  very  virtuous  performance  on  the  Governor's 
part;  but  he  would  pull  heavier  on  my  admira 
tion  if  he  hadn't  allowed  you  fellows  to  draw 
the  inference  that  he  had  felt  any  temptation 
to  be  resisted. 

When  a  man  admits  to  himself  that  he  is 
tempted  he  marks  down  his  own  moral  back 
bone  about  twenty  per  cent.;  and  when  he 
brags  that  he  didn't  yield  to  the  temptation  he 
unconsciously  puts  himself  on  the  bargain 

59 


TATTLINGS  OF 


counter  and  classes  himself  along  with  the  un 
sold  goods  in  stock.  At  least  that's  the  way  a 
good  many  discriminating  people,  who  have 
had  their  eye-teeth  cut,  are  inclined  to  look  at 
the  matter. 

In  all  my  recollection,  I  can  recall  just  one 
man  who  could  afford  to  admit,  without  cheap 
ening  his  own  character,  that  he  was  subjected 
to  a  downright  temptation — but  he  didn't  ad 
mit  it!  And  when  the  story  leaked  out,  after 
his  death,  there  wasn't  a  man  in  the  state  who 
didn't  take  off  his  hat  to  the  moral  stamina  that 
the  Governor  had  shown.  That  little  incident 
made  the  eulogies  of  the  pulpits  and  the  news 
papers  look  cheap. 

It  happened  while  you  were  kicking  a  pig 
skin  at  Princeton.  There  never  was  a  better 
campaign  than  the  one  in  which  Uncle  Cal. 
Peavey  knocked  out  the  machine  and  landed 
in  the  Governor's  chair.  It  made  a  bigger  rum 
pus  than  a  fox  in  a  henhouse,  and  there  was 
a  mighty  shaking  of  dry  bones  in  the  fat  places 
on  the  pay-roll. 

Almost  the  whole  press  of  the  state  was 

60 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

against  him  and  he  was  hounded  as  an  anarch 
ist,  a  calamity-howler  and  a  general  enemy  to 
society,  capital,  vested  rights  and  a  whole  lot 
of  other  sacred  and  civilized  things.  But  Cal. 
kept  his  nerve  and  continued  to  talk  right  out 
in  meeting.  The  harder  they  pounded,  the 
more  he  showed  his  teeth  and  stuck  out  his 
bristles. 

That  was  the  Winter  before  the  United 
Traction's  franchise  expired,  and  a  new  char 
ter  was  simply  a  groundhog  case. 

Times  were  tighter  than  a  February  freeze. 
Every  cent  that  the  Governor  had  made  in  a 
series  of  nervy  speculations  in  city  real  estate 
had  been  put  into  the  big  Empire  Building, 
just  before  the  hard  times  set  in.  Tenants  were 
scarcer  than  rats,  rents  fell  like  snowflakes,  and 
the  old  man  was  in  the  hole  for  twice  what  he 
was  worth,  with  big  payments  coming  due 
in  the  course  of  the  Winter.  He  didn't  know 
which  way  to  turn,  as  the  money  market  froze 
tighter  and  tighter,  and  it  was  a  certainty  that 
he  stood  to  lose  the  fortune  he  had  made  in 
years  of  hard  hustling,  unless  some  unexpected 

61 


TATTLINGS  OF 


stroke  of  Providence  should  come  to  his  re 
lief. 

But  he  was  made  of  stern  stuff  and  never 
gave  out  a  whimper,  although  he  couldn't  keep 
his  condition  from  the  wise  ones  on  the  street. 

Just  as  he  was  driving  ahead  to  the  last  ditch 
in  his  private  affairs,  the  United  Traction  was 
making  hay  at  the  session.  The  Governor 
wasn't  the  only  man  in  politics  that  Winter 
who  had  been  caught  in  the  financial  squeeze. 
Plenty  of  the  legislators  were  worrying  over 
mortgages  and  investments — a  fact  that  didn't 
escape  the  attention  of  the  Traction  Company's 
lobby  agents. 

Although  the  Governor  and  his  forces  put 
up  a  strong  and  crafty  fight  against  the  bill, 
the  franchise  measure  passed  both  houses  by 
a  big  majority — and  the  men  who  held  mort 
gages  on  the  assets  of  the  members  concerned 
stopped  worrying  about  payments. 

Then  the  calcium  light  was  suddenly  shifted 
to  the  Executive  Mansion,  and  the  question  in 
every  mouth  was :  "  What  will  the  Governor 
do?  "  The  situation  was  strained  up  to  con- 

62 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

cert  pitch  and  there  were  all  sorts  of  specula 
tion  as  to  the  course  which  Uncle  Cal.  would 
pursue.  Generally,  however,  it  was  agreed 
that  there  were  enough  votes  to  pass  the  bill 
over  his  veto  and  that  probably,  as  a  sensible 
man  who  knew  enough  to  know  when  he  was 
licked,  he  would  let  the  measure  become  a  law 
without  his  signature.  This  was  considered 
the  proper  way  for  a  Governor  to  surrender  un 
der  protest  when  there  were  not  enough  votes 
at  his  command  to  sustain  his  veto. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  bill  had  gone  up  to 
the  Governor,  one  of  the  smoothest  mechanics 
in  the  fine  art  of  "  fixing  "  ever  on  the  con 
fidential  pay  roll  of  the  Traction  Company 
dropped  in  at  the  office  of  the  Empire  building 
for  a  little  chat  with  Mike  Boylan,  the  Gov 
ernor's  business  partner  and  general  handy 
man. 

Now  Mike  had  knocked  about  town  a  good 
deal,  been  up  as  late  as  midnight  several  times 
and  was  fairly  well  acquainted  with  the  land 
scape  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  City  Hall; 
but  for  all  that  he  didn't  really  know  that  his 

63 


TATTLINGS  OF 


caller  was  a  scout  for  the  Traction  Company. 
In  other  words,  the  fellow  was  the  man  for  the 
hour;  he  had  just  enough  shady  reputation  to 
arouse  in  Mike's  mind  a  suspicion  of  his  con 
nection  with  the  company  and  save  awkward 
explanations.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  not 
made  himself  common  so  that  his  name  was 
known  to  the  members  of  the  gang  generally. 
In  short,  he  was  an  artist  and  accepted  about 
one  commission  in  four  or  five  years,  but  made 
that  one  something  handsome. 

"  Mike,"  he  finally  said,  after  they  had  chat 
ted  awhile,  "  if  you're  not  too  busy  I'd  like 
you  to  do  me  a  little  favor." 

"  Certainly,"  responded  Mike. 

"  I'd  like  you  to  introduce  me  to  the  man  in 
charge  of  the  safetj'  deposit  vaults  of  your 
building.  I  want  to  get  the  right  sort  of  ac 
commodations,  and  if  you  take  me  in  tow  it'll 
insure  me  proper  attention  from  the  general-in- 
command  down  there  in  the  basement." 

"  Sure,  I'll  fix  that,"  said  Mike,  taking  his 
hat  and  wondering  if  it  really  were  true  that 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

his  caller  was  mixed  up  with  the  traction  peo 
ple,  as  he  had  heard. 

They  were  starting  away  from  the  largest 
wall-safe  or  "  box  "  when  the  new  patron  of 
the  institution  called  Mike  into  one  of  the  pri 
vate  stalls.  On  the  table  were  two  good,  fat 
telescopes. 

Up  to  that  time  Mike  had  been  merely  an 
interested  spectator;  but  this  move  gave  him 
a  jolt.  Could  it  be  that  the  fellow  had  trapped 
him  into  a  position  that  might  be  made  to  re 
flect  on  the  Governor  if  it  should  ever  get  out? 

Mike's  conscience  had  been  trained  in  the 
kindergarten  of  the  street-paving  contract 
business  and  never  swung  a  danger  signal  short 
of  the  question  "  Will  it  get  out?  "  Nothing 
but  that  possibility  presented  a  moral  problem 
to  him.  The  next  semaphore  which  was  swung 
by  his  acute  spiritual  sensibilities  operated  on 
the  question  of  whether  or  not  a  certain  course 
would  bring  him  under  the  heel  of  the  law. 

"  If  this  chap  makes  a  straight  proposition," 
reasoned  Mike,  as  his  companion  was  unstrap 
ping  the  telescopes,  "  and  it  should  ever  get  to 

6s 


TATTLINGS  OF 


the  Governor's  ears,  it'll  be  all  day  with  me. 
He'll  raise  my  scalp." 

"  I  hope  you'll  not  think  I'm  suspicious  of  the 
boys  down  here,"  said  the  caller,  "  but  I'm 
taking  care  of  a  whole  lot  of  cash  for  a  pool 
I'm  interested  in;  the  fellows  who  are  with  me 
are  afraid  of  banks  in  these  times  and  insist  on 
planting  our  funds  in  a  safe-deposit  vault.  That 
puts  the  whole  thing  on  my  shoulders  and  it 
occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  a  safe  precau 
tion  to  ask  you  to  come  down  here  and  check 
up  with  me  the  amount  I'm  planting — it  won't 
take  but  a  minute." 

"  You  chaps  going  to  make  books  on  the 
races?  "  laughed  Mike. 

His  answer  was  a  knowing  wink  and  Mike 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  thought  that  he 
was  well  out  of  a  disagreeable  scrape  in  which 
a  quarrel  with  the  Governor  was  almost  a 
moral  certainty — and  Mike  was  more  afraid  of 
old  Cal.  than  of  any  other  being  in  the  whole 
universe.  In  fact  the  Governor  had  become 
a  sort  of  god  to  Mike,  although  Cal.  didn't 
know  it  himself. 

66 


Mike's  eyes  stood  out  of  his  head 
as  he  figured  up  his  tab:  One  Million 

Dollars! 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 


Half  the  packages  were  in  thousand-dollar 
bills  and  the  rest  in  five  hundreds,  so  it  was 
an  easy  job  to  check  them  up,  according  to  the 
figures  on  the  paper  bands  pinned  about  the 
packages.  Mike's  eyes  fairly  stood  out  of  his 
head  as  he  looked  from  the  figures  on  his  tab 
to  the  currency  on  the  table.  One  million  dol 
lars!  He  had  never  seen  that  much  money 
in  one  heap  before  in  his  life,  and  his  nimble, 
acquisitive  mind  began  right  away  to  figure 
out  the  things  that  could  be  done  with  that 
money.  It  almost  stupefied  him  and  he  made 
no  objection  when  asked  to  help  stack  it  away 
in  the  big  wall-safe. 

Then  they  started  upstairs  and  the  caller 
suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  left  his  um 
brella  in  Mike's  private  office.  He  got  it,  and 
started  for  the  door,  then  stopped  and  began 
to  draw  on  his  gloves.  Mike  had  not  yet  come 
out  of  his  trance.  He  was  still  saying  to  him 
self:  "A  million  dollars!" 

"  You're  satisfied  as  to  the  amount  in  the 
vault?  "  casually  inquired  the  caller. 

60 


TATTLINGS  OF 


"Yes;"  absently  responded  Mike,  writing 
the  figures  on  the  desk  blotter. 

Suddenly  the  key  to  the  big  deposit  drawer 
fell  on  the  desk  in  front  of  him  and  he  heard 
the  words: 

"  Well — you  know  what  to  do  with  this !  " 

For  a  second  he  stared  hard  at  it.  Then 
he  grabbed  it  up  and  made  a  plunge  for  the 
door  and  out  into  the  hall.  But  his  smooth 
caller  had  gone  down  the  stairs  to  the  floor  be 
low,  taken  the  elevator  which  served  the  side 
entrance  to  the  building  and  was  gone ! 

From  that  time  until  Friday  afternoon,  when 
the  Governor  came  to  the  city  to  give  two  or 
three  days  to  his  private  affairs,  Mike  scoured 
the  town  for  a  trace  of  the  man  who  had 
dumped  a  million  dollars  of  bribe  money  into 
his  hands.  And  in  that  time  he  felt  more  stings 
of  conscience  than  he  had  ever  known  in  all 
his  life  before.  He  was  the  worst  scared  man 
in  the  city  and  it  seemed  to  him  he'd  rather 
jump  into  the  crater  of  a  volcano  than  face  the 
wrath  of  the  Governor. 

Or  could  it  be  that,  under  the  certainty  of 

70 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 


complete  financial  ruin  the  old  man  was  facing, 
he  might  possibly  weaken?  And  why  shouldn't 
he  take  the  money?  He  would  be  doing  noth 
ing  for  it — not  so  much  as  signing  his  name! 
Hadn't  the  Governor  fought  the  bill  tooth-and- 
nail?  And  wouldn't  his  failure  to  sign  it  be  a 
protest  against  it?  This  was  just  what  the 
Party  and  the  public  expected  him  to  do ;  then 
why  shouldn't  he  keep  the  money  that  had  been 
thrown  at  him? — and  without  a  possible  tracer 
attached! 

But  even  Mike's  moral  obtuseness  was  not 
so  great  that  he  didn't  recoil  from  the  possi 
bility  that  the  Governor  might  look  at  the  mat 
ter  in  this  way.  If  it  should  be  so,  he  would 
know  that  there  wasn't  a  man  on  earth  who 
couldn't  be  reached  if  all  the  circumstances 
were  right. 

When  the  Governor  came  in  Mike  was  look 
ing  uncommonly  pale,  but  the  old  man  was  too 
preoccupied  to  notice  it.  His  grizzled  old  face 
was  as  haggard  as  if  he  had  just  got  up  from  a 
run  of  fever,  and  his  eyes  shone  with  a  grim, 
unnatural  brightness. 


TATTLINGS  OF 


He  slumped  into  a  big  leather  chair  and,  in 
a  shaky  voice,  said : 

"  Mike,  it's  all  up !  I  stopped  in  at  the  Trust 
Company's  office  on  my  way  from  the  station, 
and  they  say  we  can't  have  any  more  time. 
Then  I  went  over  to  the  other  place  and 
thrashed  it  out  with  fellows  we  hoped  might 
come  into  the  thing  as  a  last  resort.  But 
they're  scared,  and  nothing  can  move  'em  to 
furnish  the  funds." 

He  choked  up  for  a  minute  but  finally  con 
tinued  : 

"  But  there's  one  consolation.  The  prop 
erty's  worth  the  money,  and  no  one'll  lose  a 
dollar.  And  there'll  be  no  scandal  attached. 
Thank  God  I  never  wronged  a  man  out  of  a 
cent  that  I  know  of,  but  it's  kind  of  tough  to 
see  the  work  of  years  swept  away  in  a  second ! 
And  then  there's  the  little  woman  at  home — 
that's  the  hardest  part  of  it!" 

Then  Mike  knew  that  it  was  up  to  him  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  the  safe-deposit  busi 
ness — and  he  did  it,  too. 

The  eyes  of  the  old  man  seemed  to  bore  Mike 

72 


"Young  man",  said  the  Gover 
nor,  "TV  advise  you  to  take  better 
care  of  that  scoundrel's  monev  than 
you  ever  did  of  any  other  mo?iey  in 
your  life . " 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

right  through  as  the  story  came  out  in  a  shaky 
voice.  For  a  minute  or  two,  the  old  Governor 
sat  with  his  chin  resting  in  his  hands,  the 
muscles  of  his  face  twitching  like  a  spider's 
legs. 

But  it  was  all  over  in  a  minute.  Slowly  ris 
ing  to  his  feet,  the  old  man  pointed  his  long 
bony  finger  at  Mike  and  in  a  voice  that  had  the 
grit  of  iron  in  it,  he  said: 

"  Young  man !  I'd  advise  you  to  take  better 
care  of  that  damned  scoundrel's  money  than 
you  ever  did  of  any  money  in  your  life." 

That  night  the  Governor  wrote  a  veto  mes 
sage  on  the  traction  bill  that  fairly  scorched 
the  rails  of  the  line.  Then  he  called  in  the  real 
scrappers  of  his  political  camp  and  began  a 
fight  against  foregone  defeat  that  ripped  up 
the  whole  state  and  made  history.  He  didn't 
stop  at  anything  that  came  under  the  head 
of  things  "  fair  in  love  and  war." 

Before  the  fight  was  finished  he  was  forced 
practically  to  kidnap  two  or  three  weak-kneed 
members  of  the  opposition  and  take  them  out 
of  the  state.  And  there  were  a  few  others  that 

75 


TATTLINGS  OF 


had  to  be  given  a  close-range  view  of  the  peni 
tentiary  before  they  experienced  a  change  of 
heart.  But  when  the  vote  on  the  veto  was 
taken  the  old  Governor  won  out  by  three  votes 
— and  he  celebrated  the  triumph  by  surrender 
ing  to  his  creditors  and  backers  all  the  prop 
erty  that  he  had  accumulated  in  fifty  years  of 
harder  work  than  a  stone-breaker  ever  put  in. 

In  less  than  a  year  from  that  time  I  acted 
as  a  pall-bearer  at  Calvin  Peavey's  funeral  and 
joined  in  a  subscription  to  buy  the  widow  a 
home. 

That's  the  sort  of  moral  backbone  that  is 
entitled  to  flowers,  according  to  my  notion. 
And  there  isn't  much  of  anything  short  of  that 
brand  that  is.  When  I  go  into  hero-worship 
I'm  going  to  cap  my  shrine  with  a  bust  of  hon 
est  old  Cal. 

But  I've  run  on  to  such  a  length  about  this 
temptation  business  that  you'll  veto  this  letter 
without  reading  if  I  don't  quit  short  off. 

The  cattle  are  looking  fine  and  I'm  getting 
young  and  frisky,  now  that  I  don't  have  to  keep 
a  gang  of  office-seekers  in  good  humor  or  steer 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

the  ship  of  state  between  the  rocks  of  party 
politics.  There's  nothing  to  put  ginger  into  a 
man  quite  up  to  the  liberty  of  speaking  his 
mind  without  figuring  on  how  it's  going  to 
affect  the  vote. 

Yours  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


POLITICAL   SPANKS   AND 
SPANKERS. 

Replying  to  Ned's  letter  propos 
ing  to  follow  up  one  "  reform  vic 
tory  "  with  another  bill  to  "  purify 
the  state  "  by  legislative  enactment, 
the  old  Governor  frees  his  mind  on 
the  subject  of  world-spankers  and 
says  a  few  pointed  things  regarding 
professional  reformers,  that  are  il 
luminated  by  two  pertinent  stories. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

POLITICAL  SPANKS  AND  SPANKERS. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

My  Dear  Ned: — 

After  you've  shot  your  rocket  don't  play 
with  the  stick.  Start  something  new. 
Even  the  importunate  widow  of  the  para 
ble  had  the  good  grace  to  let  up  after  she'd 
landed  what  she  was  after.  And  it's  mighty 
risky  for  politicians  to  rush  in  where  widows 
fear  to  tread. 

Your  little  reform  game  was  all  well  enough 
and  came  out  a  lot  better  than  most  schemes 
to  spank  the  world  "by  statute  made  and  pro 
vided."  Of  course,  we've  got  to  have  corrective 
legislation,  but  three  feet  of  holdback  strap, 
taken  on  emergency  from  the  nearest  fill  of  the 
family  buggy  and  applied  at  the  nerve  center  of 
my  youthful  conscience,  did  more  to  make  me  a 
good  citizen  than  all  the  statutes  in  all  the 
books  of  the  Law  since  the  days  of  Moses  or 
the  Medes  and  Persians. 

81 


TATTLINGS  OF 


And  now  that  you  open  the  way,  I'd  like  to 
offer  a  few  remarks  on  the  subject  of  political 
spanks  and  spankers.  Your  notion  that  you 
have  a  divine  call  to  keep  everlastingly  at  the 
reform  work  puts  you  on  a  par  with  most  other 
spankers.  Mighty  few  of  them  know  when  to 
begin,  and  not  one  in  a  thousand  has  sense 
enough  to  quit  at  just  the  right  point.  This 
spanking  business  is  a  good  deal  like  temper 
ing  steel — the  whole  trick's  in  knowing  the 
right  minute  for  cooling  off. 

When  my  father  used  to  start  in  with  the 
buggy  strap  I  was  powerful  proud  and  cocky; 
I  knew  that  I  was  in  the  right.  But  as  things 
continued  to  warm  up,  my  feelings  always 
reached  a  point  of  complete  humility.  I  was 
licked  and  I  knew  it.  And  what  was  more, 
I  knew  that  I  ought  to  be  licked.  I  "  conceded 
everything  to  the  opposition  "  and  was  willing 
to  come  back  into  the  party  fold  without  ask 
ing  for  any  representation  on  the  steering  com 
mittee.  If  father  had  stopped  right  there  he 

82 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

would  have  had  me  in  a  state  of  total  and  un 
qualified  surrender.  But  he  didn't.  He  al 
ways  kept  right  on  with  the  reform  business, 
just  as  you  seem  bent  on  doing. 

Gradually,  on  these  painful  occasions,  my 
feelings  underwent*  another  change  until  I 
didn't  care  whether  I  was  right  or  wrong.  All 
I  did  care  for  was  to  get  even  with  the  power 
behind  the  strap.  And  generally  about  that 
time,  I'd  let  out  a  yell  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
by  some  of  the  neighbors.  They  usually  did 
hear,  too,  and  then  the  news  would  circulate 
that  I'd  been  "  shamefully  whipped."  That 
kind  of  sympathy  made  me  swell  up  like  a 
martyr  and  feel  that  I  was  the  victim  of  the 
oppressor. 

Now,  Ned,  the  time  to  let  up  on  spanking 
the  community  is  at  the  humble  point.  When 
you  keep  on  until  the  victim  gets  the  secret 
sympathy  of  the  neighbors  and  is  able  to  pose 
as  the  object  of  persecution  you're  overdoing 
the  job  just  a  little.  It's  all  right  to  be  thor- 

83 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ough,  but  stop  at  a  point  where  you  can  keep 
the  moral  support  of  the  neighbors. 

A  good  many  reformers  are  like  pointer 
pups — they  don't  get  sense  enough  to  work 
with  until  they're  beyond  the  age  at  which 
a  bird  dog  of  any  other  breed  ought  to  have 
become  full  of  burrs  and  honors.  I  never  see 
a  reformer  start  in,  full  of  his  first  run  of  po 
litical  sap,  without  thinking  of  "  Pug"  Han 
som.  They  called  him  that  because  he  looked 
as  if  part  of  his  face  had  been  left  off  and  kind 
of  squared  up  in  the  rough  with  a  meat  ax, 
like  a  pug  dog's. 

He  had  bullyragged  a  fair  sized  fortune  out 
of  the  manufacturing  business  before  he  was 
35.  Then  he  concluded  that  he  would  cover 
himself  with  glory  by  larruping  the  world  into 
a  state  of  political  righteousness.  He  was 
willing  to  start  in  a  small  way,  just  for  prac 
tice,  on  his  own  city  of  more  than  a  million 
inhabitants.  After  he  had  cleaned  that  up  he 
would  begin  on  the  real  job  and  show  the 


"Pug"  Hansom  went  into  politi 
cal  work  to  save  himself  from  ingrow 
ing  patriotism. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

world  what  he  could  do  when  once  he  got  his 
hand  in. 

Just  then  a  new  man  was  reaching  for  a 
foothold  on  the  party  ladder  and  was  doing 
a  clever  stunt  in  the  shape  of  organizing  young 
men's  clubs.  When  the  young  world  spanker 
came  to  him  asking  for  work,  just  to  save  him 
self  from  ingrowing  patriotism,  the  request 
was  granted.  The  General  Overseer  said: 

"  You  organize  a  dozen  clubs  in  your  part 
of  town,  get  them  right  where  you  can  change 
them  from  a  singlefoot  to  a  canter  at  the  turn 
of  your  hand,  and  then  you'll  have  political 
capital  to  do  business  with  that'll  start  you  on 
a  real  career." 

From  that  time  until  he  was  all  in,  this 
young  reformer  was  busier  than  a  cock  part 
ridge  on  a  drumming  log — and  he  strutted 
around  in  about  the  same  style,  too.  I've 
never  seen  anything  quite  so  important  of  its 
age  as  that  young  chap.  But  he  was  a  hustler 
and  he  went  at  the  organization  of  young 

87 


TATTLINGS  OF 


men's  clubs  in  his  neck  of  the  woods  in  the 
same  way  that  he  had  invaded  a  competitor's 
territory  and  put  in  his  own  goods. 

According  to  his  report  to  the  General  Or 
ganizer,  "  the  work  "  was  coming  on  in  great 
shape;  the  petitions  were  signed  upon  sight, 
and  there  was  enough  party  enthusiasm 
aroused  by  his  oratory  to  drive  a  sawmill  with 
lath  and  shingle  machines  to  boot.  On  the 
surface  everything  looked  all  right  to  the  Gen 
eral  Organizer  and  he  had  about  concluded 
that  he  had  picked  a  winner  when  the  great 
night  of  the  actual  organization  and  election 
of  officers  came  on. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  enthusiasm  or 
activity.  Every  young  man  in  the  party  un 
der  80  years  of  age  was  there  and  doing  busi 
ness.  When  the  ceremony  of  electing  officers 
was  over  the  young  reformer  was  so  hypno 
tized  by  the  applause  that  greeted  his  oratory 
that  he  actually  didn't  recognize  the  fact  that 
the  enemy  had  come  in  like  a  flood  and  swept 
all  his  work  right  into  the  opposition  camp. 
He  wasn't  a  high  private  in  the  organization 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

that  he  had  built  up — and  he  didn't  realize  it 
until  the  General  Organizer  heard  of  the  news 
and  explained  it  to  him  with  a  diagram. 

Some  of  these  little  things  are  calculated  to 
give  a  real  politician  the  feeling  that  it's  about 
as  sensible  to  hunt  prairie  chickens  with  a 
hound  pup  as  to  go  after  votes  with  a  reformer 
who  wants  to  make  the  party  into  one  large 
bible  class,  with  himself  as  teacher  and  substi 
tute. 

I  notice  that  lately  you  have  been  sending 
up  quite  a  few  fireworks  directed  at  the  bosses 
of  your  party.  What's  the  matter,  Ned?  You 
haven't  been  trying  to  get  frisky  with  the  old 
crowd  of  fellows  and  ring  in  new  rules  on  the 
boys  without  giving  due  notice,  have  you? 
When  I  hear  that  kind  of  talk  from  a  man  who 
has  been  in  the  political  game  as  long  as  you 
have  and  has  as  much  horse  sense  as  you  usu 
ally  carry  about,  I  can't  help  suspecting  that 
something  like  this  has  happened. 

It's  all  right  to  put  up  a  howl  against  the 
boss,  but  the  outcry  would  be  a  whole  lot  more 
convincing  if  it  did  not  come  from  a  throat 

89 


TATTLINGS  OF 


that  has  sung  in  his  choir  since  it  was  organ 
ized.  There  has  been  more  nonsense  talked 
on  both  sides  of  the  boss  question  than  on  the 
tariff  and  free  silver  combined.  I  guess  that 
I  have  said  enough  to  indicate  that,  to  my  no 
tion,  a  reformer  isn't  to  be  accepted  as  having 
a  divine  call  simply  because  he  can  pound  the 
pulpit  and  shout  loud  enough  to  start  the  nails 
in  the  mourners'  benches.  I  look  at  it  about 
this  way: 

A  boss  is  frequently  a  reformer  who  has 
finally  grown  up,  got  on  to  the  rules  of  the 
game  and  is  willing  to  play  it  square.  And  the 
professional  reformer  is  often  only  an  appetite 
for  power  that  mistakes  itself  for  moral  cour 
age. 

Since  cutting  my  eye  teeth  I  have  had  a  good 
chance  to  learn  considerable  about  how  a  re 
former  can  grow  up  into  a  boss,  and  how  a 
boss  can  get  cocky  and  exceed  his  privileges. 
One  experience  has  shed  a  good  deal  of  light 
on  the  subject  for  me,  so  I  give  it  to  you  for 
what  it's  worth. 

It  was  the  second  year  after  I  came  back 

90 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

to  the  city.  A  young  married  man  out  in 
the  newer  section  of  the  town  saw  that  cer 
tain  things  in  his  line  of  trade  ought  to  be 
protected  by  stricter  laws. .  He  kept  the  drug 
and  school  book  store  right  next  to  the  school- 
house. 

When  he  asked  the  local  boss  for  repre 
sentation  on  the  ward  committee  and  for  some 
other  reasonable  things  that  would  help  him 
to  make  a  strong  fight  for  his  reform  legis 
lation  he  was  turned  down. 

He  was  green  in  politics,  but  you  didn't 
have  to  tell  him  a  thing  but  once — and  some 
times  not  at  all.  Because  his  was  the  only 
drug  store  in  the  region  and  was  close  to  the 
schoolhouse,  he  knew  practically  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  the  ward.  When  the 
smoke  cleared  away  from  the  primaries  this 
little  druggist  had  fourteen  of  the  delegates 
to  the  county  convention  and  the  local  boss 
had  one. 

That  night  the  druggist  didn't  feel  sleepy, 
and  so  he  managed  to  see  the  fellows  who 
were  doing  things  on  his  side  of  the  river. 


TATTLINGS  OF 


He  was  just  as  easy  and  modest  in  his  way 
as  if  he'd  never  thought  of  going  out  after  a 
little  reform  legislation.  Somehow  the  boys 
who  held  the  whip  hand  took  a  shine  to  him 
and  concluded  that  he'd  play  square.  Then 
they  were  so  tickled  over  the  way  he  had 
drubbed  the  boss  that  they  fell  right  in  with 
his  plan  for  doing  things  in  the  convention. 

When  he  walked  into  the  room  where  the 
"  Big  Three  "  slate  makers  were  figuring  out 
things  he  was  abruptly  asked :  "  How  many 
delegates  have  you?" 

"  One  hundred  and  thirteen,"  he  answered. 

"  No;  how  many  delegates  do  you  control? 
We're  not  asking  how  many  there  are  on  your 
side  of  the  river,"  was  the  impatient  return. 

"  I  control  113 — all  there  are  on  my  side  of 
the  creek,  just  as  I  said.  We  all  got  together 
last  night,  and  I'm  sent  up  here  to  treat  with 
you  and  find  out  just  what  can  be  done." 

"Done!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  veteran 
bosses.  "Why,  we  can  simply  control  that 
whole  convention  without  another  vote.  Now, 
what  do  you  want,  young  man?  " 

92 


Little  Doc  walked  into  the  room 
where  the  Big  Three  slate-makers 
were  figuring  out  things. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

He  told  them  precisely  what  things  on  the 
ticket  would  have  to  go  to  his  side  of  the  river, 
and  he  capped  the  whole  business  by  demand 
ing  that  his  men  must  be  nominated  first. 

"  Because,"  he  explained,  "  you  see,  this 
game  is  all  new  to  me,  and  I  can't  take  the 
chances  that  you  old  hands  can." 

Right  then  one  of  the  big  leaders  looked 
up  and  said: 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  just  a  reformer 
— but,  by  mighty!  you're  a  boss,  and  a  real 
boss,  too." 

From  that  time  to  this  the  little  druggist 
has  played  a  gentleman's  game  and  played  it 
on  the  square.  Some  folks  don't  approve  of 
games  at  all,  and  others  don't  like  that  kind 
of  a  game,  but  all  are  agreed  that  the  way  to 
play  it  is  according  to  the  rules. 

So,  Ned,  if  you're  going  to  cast  your  lot 
with  the  world  spankers,  just  try  and  be  as 
decent  and  square  with  your  political  partners 
as  you  have  been  while  just  a  plain  politician, 
playing  the  game  for  the  fun  of  it  and  because 
you  like  it  better  than  golf,  poker,  pingpong, 

95 


TATTLINGS  OF 


or  pinochle.  If  you  do  this  you're  likely  some 
time  to  break  your  chrysalis,  "  leave  your  low 
vaulted  past,"  and  find  that  you  have  changed 
from  a  professional  political  spanker  to  a  boss 
whose  word  is  good  to  the  limit  of  the  game 
with  all  who  know  how  to  play  it. 
Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


A  WOMAN  IN  IT. 

Responding  to  Ned's  confession 
that  he  has  become  engaged  to  Kate 
Hamming  and  feels  that  a  wife  will 
have  a  "  great  influence  on  his 
career,"  William  Bradley  tells  the 
story  of  one  good  woman's  tragic  in 
fluence  in  the  life  of  a  young  poli 
tician — and  points  the  conclusion 
that  one  guess  is  as  good  as  another 
in  a  political  situation  with  a  woman 
in  it 


CHAPTER  V. 
A  WOMAN  IN  IT. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch,  ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

And  so  you've  decided  to  take  unto  your 
self  a  wife  in  the  person  of  Kate  Haming? 
Good!  That  part  of  the  departure  isn't 
open  to  debate.  And  neither  is  your  ob 
servation  that  you  feel  your  wife  will  have  a 
"  decided  influence  "  on  your  political  career. 
But  no  being  short  of  the  Almighty  is  able 
to  give  anything  like  a  safe  guess  on  whether 
that  influence  will  be  of  the  sort  you  are  count 
ing  on.  This  is  one  of  the  things  as  inscrut 
able  as  the  mystery  of  godliness. 

Any  fair  sample  of  common  American  wo 
manhood  is  a  prize  package  for  a  bachelor 
politician  to  draw;  but  when  it  comes  to  the 
question  of  her  influence  on  his  career,  one 
guess  is  as  good  as  another.  And  this  uncer 
tainty  isn't  a  matter  of  the  particular  kind  of 
feminine  loveliness  that  the  woman  in  the  case 

99 


TATTLINGS  OF 


happens  to  represent.  She  may  be  as  attrac 
tive  as  a  lost  bargain  and  as  tactful  as  brook 
trout  and  still  manage  to  warp  your  political 
destiny  until  it  cracks. 

I  never  see  a  young  politician  push  his  head 
into  the  matrimonial  lariat  without  thinking 
of  young  Flournoy,  one  of  the  first  speakers 
out  here  after  the  territory  became  a  state. 
His  story  shows  how  a  woman's  presence  in 
the  background  of  a  politician's  life  can  change 
the  whole  face  of  the  landscape. 

When  the  Almighty  put  the  finishing 
touches  to  young  Flournoy 's  makeup  and 
hitched  him  up  for  life's  heat,  He  checked  him 
high.  You  remember  that  thoroughbred  Ken 
tucky  colt  I  used  to  drive  the  first  year  I  occu 
pied  the  Executive  Mansion?  Head  up,  ears 
forward,  set  on  a  hair  trigger  and  ready  to 
shy  at  a  butterfly,  and  so  sensitive  that  a  harsh 
word  would  throw  her  into  the  dumps  ror  a 
whole  day?  If  I  had  that  little  mare  now  I'd 
call  her  Flournoy. 

The  young  man  was  as  proud  as  a  girl  with 
her  first  long  skirt  and  as  ambitious  as  Lu- 

100 


I! 


Young  Flournoy  spruced  up 
amazingly,  but  worshipped  at  a 
distance. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

cifer.  He  had  a  good  ranch  and  kept  severely 
to  himself  until  a  little  school  teacher  with 
snappy  gray  eyes,  dimples,  and  a  cleft  chin 
came  from  New  York  to  teach  district  No.  10. 
I  never  saw  a  bucket  of  water  bring  a  gopher 
out  of  his  hole  quicker  than  that  mite  of  a 
schoolmarm  brought  Flournoy  out  of  his 
shell!  He  spruced  up  amazingly,  and  never 
passed  the  schoolhouse  or  the  place  where 
she  boarded  without  wearing  clothes  that 
would  have  graced  a  wedding. 

Right  at  the  start  the  young  man  got  it  into 
his  head  that  Miss  Dove  was  made  of  superior 
clay  and  that  her  blood  was  bluer  than  a  royal 
whetstone.  It  never  occurred  to  him  for  an 
instant  that  a  good,  clean,  young  chap  like 
himself  was  worthy  to  come  into  her  presence 
or  could  be  of  the  slightest  possible  interest 
to  her  unless  he  could  do  some  knightly  stunt 
that  would  specially  entitle  him  to  her  conde 
scension.  There's  no  doubt  that  the  girl  was 
so  dead  lonesome  and  homesick  that  she  would 
have  given  her  shoes  for  the  companionship 
of  a  man  like  Flournoy,  and  would  have 

103 


TATTLINGS  OF 


primped  in  front  of  the  glass  for  an  hour  if  she 
had  been  given  any  reason  to  suspect  that  he 
might  call. 

But  the  young  rancher  continued  to  adore 
at  a  distance  and  to  lie  awake  nights  schem 
ing  about  how  he  could  distinguish  himself 
in  her  eyes. 

There  wasn't  much  doing  in  the  way  of 
opportunity  for  old  fashioned  heroics  just  then 
and  there.  The  prairies  refused  to  burn, 
tramps  kept  shy  of  the  country  for  fear  of 
being  set  to  work,  not  a  dog  went  mad,  no 
villain  offered  insult  to  the  little  school  teacher, 
and  altogether  there  wasn't  the  slightest 
chance  for  her  knight  to  rush  in  and  rescue 
her  from  insult  or  peril. 

Perhaps  you  think  Flournoy  didn't  figure 
on  any  of  these  things.  That's  because  you 
never  saw  him.  One  glance  into  his  big  black 
eyes  was  like  reading  a  whole  historical  ro 
mance  at  a  gulp.  You  may  take  my  word 
for  it  that  there  wasn't  a  dramatic  possibility 
that  this  adoring  lover  hadn't  figured  on.  He 
saw  the  whole  situation  through  age-of-chiv- 

104 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

airy  eyes,  and  all  he  needed  to  fit  him  for  a 
knight  was  a  little  scrap-iron  clothing  and  a 
good  deal  of  bad  language. 

But  in  the  absence  of  any  better  field  of 
valor,  he  decided  to  take  to  politics.  We've 
been  told,  until  we're  tired  of  it,  that  "  all  the 
world  loves  a  lover/'  but  it's  gospel  truth  just 
the  same — and  when  Flournoy  intimated  to 
the  boss  of  his  district  that  he  wanted  to  go 
to  the  House  the  old  Platt-in-overalls  decided 
that  for  once  he'd  indulge  the  luxury  of  a  lit 
tle  sentiment.  So  he  put  the  thing  through 
and  landed  Flournoy  on  the  ticket.  The  oppo 
sition  was  mighty  strong  that  year,  and  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  the  quiet  way  in  which  the 
boss  put  forward  what  the  literary  critics  call 
the  "  romance  element,"  his  candidate  cer 
tainly  would  have  been  skinned  at  the  polls. 
But  the  love  affair  caught  the  fancy  of  all  the 
old  boys  and  some  of  the  young  ones,  and 
Flournoy  found  himself  elected,  addressed  as 
"  honorable,"  and  petted  by  the  whole  com 
munity. 

Before  the  smell  of  the  fireworks  celebrat- 

105 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ing  his  election  had  been  blown  out  of  the  main 
street  of  Bullseye,  Flournoy  began  to  receive 
telegrams  and  delegations  from  the  various 
factions  fighting  for  control  of  the  House.  He 
was  just  wise  enough  to  play  safety  and  not  tie 
up  with  any  particular  crowd,  but  he  was  kept 
so  busy  returning  the  evasive  answer  that  he 
didn't  have  a  chance  to  call  on  the  little  school 
teacher  and  throw  his  future  at  her  feet.  In 
fact,  the  night  when  he  had  put  on  his  best 
garments  and  his  statesman's  smile  and  was 
walking  the  floor  in  a  mild  effort  to  screw  up 
his  courage  for  a  call  on  her,  a  male  siren  from 
another  district  dropped  in  and  delicately  in 
timated  that  stranger  things  had  happened 
than  the  selection  of  Robert  Flournoy  as 
speaker  of  the  House.  And  when  the  political 
siren  closed  his  dark-horse  song  he  left  a  book 
of  parliamentary  rules  for  young  Flournoy's 
perusal  and  inspiration. 

The  poison  worked  so  swiftly  that  instead 
of  treading  the  cottonwood  lane  that  led  to 
Squire  Baldwin's  house,  where  the  school 
teacher  boarded,  as  he  had  intended,  Flour- 

1 06 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

noy  sat  straddle  of  a  kitchen  chair,  his  head 
resting  on  its  back,  and  his  mind  working  on 
the  splendid  possibilities  ahead.  It  didn't  take 
him  long  to  figure  that  if  a  membership  in  the 
House  was  a  strong  card  to  play  in  his  suit  for 
the  hand  of  the  school  teacher  the  speakership 
would  be  a  royal  flush.  If  the  stake  had  been 
his  own  life  he  couldn't  have  been  in  more 
deadly  earnest,  so  he  concluded  to  wait  a  bit 
and  make  a  try  for  the  speakership  before  he 
showed  his  hand. 

Consequently,  he  sent  his  love  affair  into 
committee  for  future  report  and  struck  out  for 
the  capital.  There  he  found  things  split  up  into 
three  bunches,  with  party  lines  lost  in  the 
scramble  for  power.  The  regulars  and  the  in 
surgents  were  evenly  divided  and  three  hun 
gry  scouts  held  the  balance  of  power.  The 
scouts  stood  out  until  the  last  minute  before 
the  formal  opening  of  the  House,  and  it  looked 
as  if  the  deadlock  might  be  good  for  half  the 
life  of  the  session. 

But  just  then  the  hatchet-faced  old  war- 
horse  of  the  Insurgents,  who  had  whispered 

107 


TATTLINGS  OF 


the  siren  song  to  Flournoy,  took  a  grip  on  the 
situation  and  showed  that  he  could  spell 
organization  with  a  big  "  O."  He  had  an 
under  jaw  like  the  lower  blade  of  a  rolling  mill 
shears,  the  sort  that  snips  off  steel  rails  as 
easy  as  a  small  boy  bites  stick  candy.  And 
his  eyes  had  about  as  much  of  the  glow  of 
human  kindness  as  the  points  of  two  diamond 
drills.  "  Old  Jawbone,"  as  the  boys  called  him, 
was  a  seasoned  terrier,  who  had  been  waiting 
for  years  to  set  his  teeth  into  a  "  good  thing." 
He  saw  his  chance  and  made  a  lunge  for  it. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  chaos  of  things,  came 
the  word  that  he  had  whipped  the  three  scouts 
into  line  and  with  their  votes  the  Insurgents 
would  put  young  Flournoy  into  the  speaker's 
chair.  And  they  did  it,  too,  in  short  order, 
after  the  state  patronage  had  been  parceled 
out  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  scouts. 

Probably  no  speaker  ever  carried  into  the 
big  chair  at  the  head  of  a  state  House  of  Rep 
resentatives  a  happier  heart  that  Flournoy's. 
He  fairly  perspired  beads  of  joy.  A  kitten 
with  a  dozen  balls  of  yarn  would  have  made 

108 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

a  solemn  spectacle  alongside  the  young 
speaker.  And  a  kitten  presiding  over  a  pack 
of  timber  wolves  would  have  been  an  example 
of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  compared  with 
young  Flournoy  as  the  ruling  officer  of  that 
House.  He  had  no  more  idea  of  the  nature 
of  his  job  and  the  powers  that  were  playing 
with  him  than  a  cock  sparrow  caught  in  a 
cyclone  has  of  the  thing  he  is  up  against. 

It  meant  just  one  thing  to  Flournoy — the 
girl !  Beyond  her  he  saw  nothing,  knew  noth 
ing,  cared  nothing.  His  sudden  political  hon 
ors  were  only  trophies  to  be  flung  at  her  feet. 

Just  before  adjournment  at  the  close  of  the 
first  week  he  wrote  Miss  Lucy  Dove,  asking 
if  he  might  take  the  liberty  of  calling  upon 
her  Saturday  evening.  And  he  didn't  lose 
sight  of  the  probability  that  she  would  be  duly 
impressed  by  the  imposing  official  stationery 
upon  which  his  note  was  written. 

Of  course,  just  what  he  said  to  her  that 
night,  as  they  walked  up  and  down  between 
the  two  long  rows  of  cottonwood  in  the  light 
of  the  Autumn  moon,  isn't  of  record,  except- 

109 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ing  as  it  was  written  on  his  face  when  he 
showed  up  at  the  beginning  of  the  week.  One 
of  the  boys  who  was  in  his  open  secret  read 
the  speaker's  face  with  the  remark:  "He's 
had  his  petition  hung  up  in  the  hands  of  a 
friendly  committee,  with  an  intimation  of 
speedy  and  favorable  action." 

Sometimes  the  whole  front  of  his  counte 
nance  was  hung  with  the  bunting  of  assured 
hope,  only  to  be  changed  in  the  space  of  an 
hour  to  the  dark  draperies  of  threatening  de 
spair.  But  the  game  that  was  put  up  to  him 
in  the  course  of  the  week  was  swifter  than 
anything  he  had  ever  thought  of,  and,  to 
gether  with  the  worry  about  the  young  wo 
man,  it  wore  him  to  a  frazzle. 

But  at  last  the  members  adjourned  for  an 
other  Sunday  at  home,  and  he  packed  his  grip 
and  made  for  Bullseye  on  the  first  train.  The 
sight  of  young  Flournoy's  face  when  he  re 
turned  was  something  to  warm  the  heart  of  a 
cobblestone.  Even  "  Old  Jawbone  "  actually 
thawed  for  an  instant  under  the  radiance  of 
it.  The  wedding  card  was  spread  on  Flour- 
no 


Old  Jawbone  laid  down  the  lines 
of  the  gang  program  to  the  "Boy 
Speaker" 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

noy's  countenance  in  plainer  terms  than  on 
the  engraved  announcements  that  were  opened 
by  the  members.  He  had  won  the  heart  of  the 
little  school  teacher  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
landed  the  speakership.  There  was  an  irre 
pressible  "  young  Lochinvar  "  look  in  his  eye, 
and  he  rapped  his  gavel  with  a  new  ring  of 
confidence. 

"  Old  Jawbone  "  figured  that  the  right  min 
ute  had  come  to  spring  his  biggest  game  on 
the  "  boy  speaker,"  as  he  sometimes  called 
Flournoy  when  talking  with  the  "  gray 
wolves "  of  the  Insurgent  gang.  Conse 
quently,  he  had  a  private  conference  with  the 
knight  of  the  chair,  and  laid  out  the  lines  of 
the  gang  program.  And  the  layout  was  as 
rotten  and  high  handed  a  deal  as  was  ever  put 
up  by  a  bunch  of  Black  Hills  road  agents. 

There  wasn't  any  more  duplicity  in  Flour- 
noy's  composition  than  in  an  antelope's,  and 
he  shied  openly  at  the  proposition.  Then  the 
under  jaw  of  the  Insurgent  chief  set  tight  and 
sudden,  and  he  said :  "  Give  me  your  last  word 
on  this  tomorrow  noon." 


TATTLINGS  OF 


If  Flournoy  intended  to  take  his  bride  into 
his  confidence  on  the  matter  he  changed  his 
mind  and  fought  it  out  inside  himself.  Prob 
ably  he  was  ashamed  to  show  her  what  a  dirty 
mess  was  being  brewed  among  the  men  who 
belonged  to  his  political  camp.  But  he  knew, 
all  right,  what  the  thing  would  look  like  in 
her  eyes,  and  that  was  enough  for  him.  He 
stood  by  the  white  plummet  line  of  her  con 
science,  as  he  saw  it,  and  prepared  to  abide  by 
the  results. 

Although  he  recognized  that  he  was  up 
against  the  biggest  bout  he  had  encountered 
since  he  had  gone  into  the  knighthood  busi 
ness,  he  had  as  little  conception  of  what  could 
happen  to  him  as  a  baby  left  on  a  railroad 
track. 

That  noon,  after  he  had  kissed  his  wife  a 
dozen  times  and  received  her  promise  that  she 
would  come  to  the  House  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon,  he  cinched  up  his  armor  and  went 
into  the  speaker's  private  room,  ready  for  the 
joust  with  the  Hon.  "  Jawbone."  And  he  had 
it  hot,  too!  A  member  passing  the  door  over- 

114 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

heard  the  voice  of  the  "  boy  speaker  "  declar 
ing  :  "  Sir,  you're  a  contemptible  scoundrel 
— a  disgrace  to  your  state  and  your  race !  I'd 
rather  die  than  do  the  infamous  thing  you  de 
mand."  And  as  the  eavesdropping  member 
belonged  to  the  Insurgent  gang,  he  told  this 
snatch  of  stolen  conversation  as  a  good  joke. 
In  five  minutes  everybody  in  the  House  knew 
that  the  war  was  on. 

"  Old  Jawbone's  "  face  was  the  color  of  stale 
liver  when  he  came  out  into  the  open — and 
the  speaker's  as  white  as  a  sheet.  Flournoy's 
legs  faltered  as  he  climbed  the  stairs  to  his 
chair  and  watched  "  Old  Jawbone  "  scurrying 
to  the  seats  of  the  faithful,  like  a  pirate  passing 
orders  for  the  scuttling  of  a  ship. 

Suddenly  the  lieutenant  of  the  Insurgents 
arose  and  received  the  recognition  of  the  chair. 
With  a  sperm-oil  smile  on  his  face  he  slowly 
and  calmly  moved  the  adoption  of  a  resolution 
deposing  the  speaker  on  the  ground  of  "  gross 
incompetency." 

"Shame!"  "Outrage!"  came  the  cries 
from  the  Regulars — and  in  the  next  minute 


TATTLINGS  OF 


the  word  went  down  the  line  from  their  leader 
to  vote  for  the  retention  of  the  man  who  had 
been  seated  by  their  opponents.  For  the  next 
few  minutes  things  centered  about  the  three 
scouts.  As  the  young  speaker  stood  there, 
dumbly  holding  on  to  his  desk,  a  dazed,  wild 
look  in  his  eyes,  the  clerk  put  the  motion  in 
a  foghorn  voice.  At  that  instant  a  smiling 
usher  appeared  in  the  doorway  beside  the 
speaker's  platform,  followed  by  three  women. 
They  stopped  suddenly.  The  speaker's  chalky 
face  turned  in  their  direction  just  long  enough 
for  one  glance.  He  quivered  for  an  instant, 
then  dropped. 

"  The  motion  is  carried/'  bellowed  the  clerk 
— but  the  scream  of  the  woman  who  leaped  up 
the  stairs  of  the  speaker's  platform  cut  the 
uproar  like  a  knife.  It  was  a  good  thing  that 
"  Old  Jawbone  "  had  made  himself  scarce  be 
fore  the  Regulars  realized  what  had  happened. 
They  would  have  made  short  work  of  him  just 
then! 

When  the  young  speaker  was  revived  it  was 
only  to  rave  wildly  about  his  wife — and  she 

116 


A  smiling  usher  appeared  in  the 
doorway  followed  by  three  women. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

was  about  as  stark  mad  as  he.  It  was  real 
tragedy  with  a  vengeance.  The  strain  had 
snapped  the  taut  cord  of  Flournoy's  mental 
ity.  He  lasted  a  week — but  never  saw  a  sane 
minute.  And  if  ever  a  broken  heart  looked 
out  of  a  woman's  face — like  a  lost  soul — it 
looked  from  the  face  of  the  little  school  teacher, 
the  Lady  of  the  Lost  Knight,  as  I  have  al 
ways  called  her. 

And  so,  Ned,  do  you  wonder  I  say  you  can't 
tell  what  is  going  to  happen  when  a  woman — 
no  matter  how  fine  and  good — comes  into  the 
life  of  a  man  who  is  in  the  scramble  of  politics? 
Yours  ever,  William  Bradley. 


HOW  THE  DEAR  PEOPLE 
FORGET. 

Ned  has  written  his  old  friend  and 
counsellor  that  the  piece  of  legisla 
tion  he  has  just  put  through  will 
make  him  "  eternally  solid "  with 
his  constituents  and  that  hereafter 
he  has  only  to  say  "  thumbs-up " 
and  the  whole  party  strength  of  the 
entire  district  will  follow  the  word. 
William  Bradley  replies  with  the 
story  of  the  boss  of  Pinhole  politics 
who  banked  on  the  gratitude  of  the 
public  and  later  saw  a  great  light. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
HOW  THE  DEAR  PEOPLE  FORGET. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

You  seem  to  feel  that  the  bill  you  have 
put  through  has  given  you  a  mechanic's  lien 
for  life  on  the  franchises  of  your  constit 
uents.  Perhaps  it  has.  But  let  me  tell 
you  this :  A  boy  who  has  played  hookey  and 
wound  up  with  a  secret  raid  on  the  jam  closet, 
and  is  then  called  into  the  woodshed  to  inter 
view  father,  is  a  novice  in  the  gentle  and  con 
venient  art  of  forgetting  compared  with  the 
average  political  constituency.  Any  ordinary 
bunch  of  voters  can  forget  to  remember  more 
things  than  a  village  money  lender  can  re 
member  to  forget  in  making  up  a  schedule  of 
his  personal  property  for  the  tax  assessor. 
The  affections  of  a  frisky  girl  in  her  first  year 
of  boarding  school  life  are  sermons  in  con 
stancy  alongside  of  the  fluctuations  of  popu- 

123 


TATTLINGS  OF 


lar  esteem  which  are  recorded  at  the  ballot 
box. 

Of  course,  the  fellows  who  are  pushing  for 
the  appropriation  which  you  landed  have  told 
you  that  the  passage  of  your  bill  would  make 
you  eternally  solid  with  tne  horny  handed 
voters  in  your  district;  that  so  long  as  grass 
continues  to  grow  and  water  to  run  in  the  old 
Eighth  you  could  just  say  "  thumbs  up  "  and 
the  votes  would  be  yours.  Then  they  pounded 
you  on  the  back,  gave  you  a  stag  dinner,  and 
presented  you  with  a  gold  watch  engraved 
with  sentiments  from  your  "  grateful  con 
stituents."  I've  had  several  of  these,  and  my 
experience  is  that  they'll  run  longer  without 
cleaning  than  most  constituencies  will  with 
out  a  change  of  heart. 

This  cow  country  out  here  hasn't  any  more 
than  its  share  of  quitters,  but  a  little  incident 
just  occurred  over  at  Pinhole  that  sheds  light 
on  the  subject  of  the  amount  of  faith  a  man 
is  warranted  in  placing  on  the  political  con- 

124 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

stancy  of  a  constituency  to  which  he  has  given 
the  one  thing  that  it  desired  above  all  others. 
Now,  Pinhole  isn't  strong  on  the  traditional 
means  of  grace;  it's  short  on  churches;  the 
W.  C.  T.  U.  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.  and  other  alpha 
betical  agencies  of  civilization  haven't  been 
able  to  cut  a  wide  swath  there.  But  for  all 
that,  there  is  a  good  deal  doing  in  Pinhole  right 
along  and  the  people  have  been  accustomed  to 
point  with  pride  to  the  fact  that  its  bars,  faro 
banks,  and  other  local  institutions  are  the  best 
in  the  state  and  never  turn  away  the  enterpris 
ing  patron  at  any  hour  of  day  or  night. 

At  the  last  session  of  the  legislature,  how 
ever,  there  was  a  tidal  wave  of  moral  senti 
ment  that  made  the  boys  hold  their  ears  to 
the  rails  and  listen.  A  good  many  of  them 
concluded  that  the  "  water  wagon  "  was  com 
ing  in  earnest  and  they  couldn't  see  much 
difference  between  a  blue  ribbon  and  a  ballot. 
The  W.  C.  T.  U.  forces  certainly  did  make  a 
powerful  showing,  and  for  a  while  it  looked 

125 


TATTLINGS  OF 


as  if  some  mighty  restrictive  legislation  would 
go  through.  That  was  the  time  when  "  Big 
Mike,"  the  member  from  Pinhole,  took  off  his 
coat  and  began  to  saw  wood.  He  knew  that 
his  town  would  look  like  a  Sunday  school  after 
that  kind  of  legislation  had  begun  to  get  in  its 
saving  work.  A  big  delegation  of  business 
men  came  on  from  Pinhole  to  make  a  show 
ing.  They  were  sure  scared  and  begged  Mike 
to  turn  back  the  enemy  at  any  cost.  He 
buckled  right  down  to  business,  sacrificed 
everything  else,  and  traded  right  and  left  for 
anything  that  would  cut  into  the  votes  of  the 
reform  party.  And  he  was  a  shrewd  trader, 
too! 

If  the  missionaries  who  have  gone  out  to 
spread  the  gospel  had  worked  half  as  hard  as 
"  Big  Mike  "  there  wouldn't  be  an  unconverted 
heathen  on  the  earth.  If  he  had  sworn  not  to 
eat  or  sleep  until  he  had  killed  that  bill  he 
couldn't  have  hustled  harder.  Day  and  night 
he  was  on  the  rampage,  cutting  out  a  mem- 

126 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

her  from  the  reform  bunch  at  every  possible 
opportunity  and  putting  the  Pinhole  brand  on 
him. 

When  the  final  roundup  came  he  had  picked 
up  enough  strays,  by  hard  riding,  to  defeat  the 
cold  water  measure.  Judging  by  the  noise 
that  Pinhole  delegation  made  over  him,  you 
would  have  expected  to  see  "  Big  Mike  "  sent 
to  congress.  They  loosened  the  underpinning 
of  the  capitol  building  and  painted  the  town 
until  it  looked  like  a  horse  show  poster.  And 
the  whole  thing  was  done  over  again  when 
Mike  made  his  triumphal  return  to  his  own 
town.  All  the  brass  bands  in  the  county  were 
there  and  the  blowout  that  was  had  in  his 
honor  went  down  in  history. 

A  few  months  later  a  young  stranger  with 
a  baritone  speaking  voice,  a  smile  that  made 
the  dogs  wag  their  tails,  and  a  string  of  good 
stories,  struck  the  town  and  opened  a  law 
office.  When  the  municipal  election  came 
around  the  opposition  ticket  nominated  him 

127 


TATTLINGS  OF 


for  mayor.  Then  the  "  business  element " 
waited  on  "  Big  Mike  "  and  asked  him  to  run 
in  order  to  "  save  the  day."  They  assured  him 
that  he  was  the  one  man  who  could  snuff  out 
the  young  invader  without  batting  an  eye. 

Of  course,  being  mayor  of  Pinhole  looked 
like  small  potatoes  to  a  man  who  had  held  the 
center  of  the  stage  through  a  whole  legislative 
session  and  who  had  his  eye  on  a  seat  in  the 
State  Senate.  But  the  boys  begged  him  to 
make  the  sacrifice  and  urged  that  the  mere 
use  of  his  name  would  put  the  other  man  out 
of  the  running.  Finally  he  yielded.  The 
music  which  had  celebrated  his  triumphal  re 
turn  was  still  sounding  in  his  ears  and  he 
looked  upon  the  whole  municipal  campaign 
as  a  matter  of  form.  In  fact,  he  didn't  con 
sider  it  necessary  even  to  remind  the  people 
that  he  had  given  them  the  one  thing  they 
wanted.  They  could  never  forget  that!  So 
he  just  kept  on  handing  out  hardware  to  his 
customers  while  the  young  lawyer  worked  his 
smile  and  his  stories  from  one  end  of  the  street 
to  the  other. 

128 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

Somehow,  before  anybody  particularly  real* 
ized  it,  there  was  a  sort  of  general  inquiry  as 
to  whether  "  Big  Mike  "  ever  would  be  able 
to  satisfy  his  appetite  for  office.  Even  one 
or  two  of  the  men  who  had  been  in  the  Pin- 
hole  delegation  that  went  up  to  the  capital 
during  the  session  for  the  purpose  of  holding 
up  "  Big  Mike's"  hands  and  giving  him  moral 
support  were  heard  to  insinuate  that  the  po 
litical  leader  of  the  business  element  so  hated 
to  see  an  office  get  past  him  that  he'd  be  run 
ning  for  justice  of  the  peace  or  constable  next, 
rather  than  have  some  other  fellow  fill  the 
place. 

Then  the  women  and  the  dudes  of  Pinhole 
society  began  to  whisper  that  it  would  be  real 
nice  to  have  a  mayor  who  didn't  spit  on  his 
shirt  front  and  who  used  at  least  three  hand 
kerchiefs  in  a  week. 

Well,  before  the  polls  opened  you  could  walk 
from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the  other  with 
out  hearing  a  solitary  word  on  the  subject 
of  how  "  Big  Mike  "  had  stampeded  a  whole 
legislature  and  saved  Pinhole  from  being 

129 


TATTLINGS  OF 


crushed  under  the  wheels  of  the  water  wagon 
bill.  But  every  time  you  listened  in  at  a  little 
political  talk  you  were  dead  sure  to  hear  how 
many  spots  were  once  counted  on  "  Big 
Mike's"  shirt  bosom  and  how  tiresome  a 
thing  it  is  to  see  a  man  make  a  political  glut 
ton  of  himself. 

"  Big  Mike  "  didn't  hear  much  of  this  talk, 
and  he  simply  snorted  with  complaisant  con 
tempt  at  the  stray  fragments  of  it  that  did 
reach  his  ears.  He  allowed  that  a  man  could 
wear  a  shirt  front  of  solid  plug  fringed  with 
fine-cut  if  he  could  only  give  his  constituents 
their  heart's  desire  and  give  it  to  'em  quick — 
when  they  called  for  it. 

The  people,  he  said,  knew  all  about  him,  and 
he  knew  the  people  of  Pinhole  so  well  that 
he  didn't  have  to  get  out  and  run  a  campaign 
with  a  dude  on  a  shirt  front  issue.  But  a  bear 
on  a  floor  sanded  with  carpet  tacks  would  be 
a  calm  and  peaceful  object  compared  with 
"  Big  Mike  "  when  the  ballots  were  counted 
that  night  and  the  election  of  the  smooth 
young  lawyer  announced. 

130 


Big  Mike  plowed  up  both  sides  of 
the  street  in  his  wrath. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

Mike  plowed  up  both  sides  of  the  street  in 
his  wrath,  sold  out  his  business,  and  moved 
into  another  frontier  town  in  an  adjoining  dis 
trict,  which  had  been  as  much  benefited  by  his 
work  in  the  legislature  as  had  Pinhole.  Then 
he  started  in  for  a  long  campaign.  He  is 
working  at  it  now,  day  and  night,  and  you 
may  depend  upon  it  that  he  will  be  back  again 
in  the  legislature  with  a  long  knife  out  for  any 
legislation  that  the  Pinhole  district  may  want. 
He  says  that  he  is  now  a  reformer — and  that 
the  firsc  thing  he  proposes  to  reform  is  the 
memory  of  his  dear  friends,  the  people  of  Pin- 
hole. 

All  this,  I  admit,  is  discouraging  to  a  man 
who  has  put  up  really  a  great  fight  for  a  good 
measure  that  ought  to  entitle  him  to  an  eter 
nal  mortgage  on  the  support  of  his  district  for 
anything  he  may  choose  to  ask.  However, 
there  may  be  a  sneaking  streak  of  satisfaction 
to  some  fellows  in  the  fact  that  a  constitu 
ency  is  about  as  quick  to  forget  his  sins  and 
blunders  as  his  triumphs  of  statesmanship  in 
their  behalf. 

133 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Perhaps  you  have  forgotten  the  episode  of 
"  Gumshoe  Smith,"  in  the  session  when  you 
were  laid  off.  Let  me  jog  your  memory.  Gum 
shoe  represented  one  of  the  river  districts.  Al 
though  he  had  a  whole  lot  of  farmers  in  his 
bailiwick,  he  was  out  for  any  substantial  as 
sets  he  could  fasten  on  to  without  making  too 
much  noise  about  it.  And,  what's  more,  he 
didn't  hold  himself  at  a  cheap  price,  either. 
He  always  stuck  for  something  worth  while, 
and  if  he  did  not  get  it  he  was  a  bad  man  to 
deal  with.  He  had  the  courage  of  his  im 
moral  convictions  and  showed  a  daredevil 
nerve  when  any  of  the  corporate  interests 
tried  to  throw  him. 

One  of  the  biggest  franchise  bills  that  came 
up  during  the  session  was  engineered  by  a 
transplanted  New  England  Yankee  who  hated 
to  see  a  cent  slip  through  his  own  ringers. 
This  made  Gumshoe  mad,  and  he  fixed  a  price 
on  his  support  that  threw  the  Yankee  into 
the  cramps.  They  dickered  and  haggled  up 
to  the  last  minute  before  the  bill  was  to  come 
up  for  third  reading;  but  Gumshoe  wouldn't 

134 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

budge  an  inch  or  discount  his  price  a  dollar. 

At  the  last  ragged  minute  before  roll  call 
that  Yankee,  who  was  hid  away  in  one  of  the 
committee  rooms,  turned  to  a  young  fellow 
from  his  own  town,  whom  he  had  put  on  the 
pay  roll,  and  handed  him  a  long  envelope  con 
taining  $5,000  with  the  remark:  "  Just  hustle 
into  the  House  and  quietly  hand  this  to  Mr. 
Smith.  It  contains  some  papers  he  wants  to 
use  right  away." 

The  young  fellow  was  as  green  as  a  June 
pasture,  so  far  as  his  knowledge  of  inside 
legislation  was  concerned,  and  besides  that 
he  didn't  have  any  more  than  his  share  of 
brains,  anyway.  He  slipped  into  the  House 
and  asked  the  doorkeeper,  "  Where  is  Mr,. 
Smith?" 

"  Right  down  the  aisle  there,"  answered  the 
doorkeeper,  pointing.  "  Standing  with  his 
hand  on  his  desk." 

The  young  fellow  slipped  quietly  down  the 
aisle  and  laid  the  envelope  on  the  desk  indi 
cated.  Before  the  roll  call  actually  began 
Gumshoe  slipped  out  of  the  door  and  began  to 

135 


TATTLINGS  OF 


look  anxiously  about.  In  a  moment  he  found 
what  he  was  looking  for,  and  he  and  the 
Yankee  held  about  two  minutes  of  mighty  ani 
mated  conversation.  Then  the  young  man 
who  had  been  sent  with  the  envelope  came  up. 
The  Yankee  grabbed  him  by  the  arm  and 
asked  in  an  undertone :  "  You  gave  those  pa 
pers  to  Smith,  didn't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  young  man  in  a  scared 
voice. 

Then  Gumshoe  turned  on  the  little  fellow 
and  said : 

"  You're  a  liar,  you  never  gave  it  to  me. 
You've  salted  it  down  in  your  own  pocket, 
you  little  thief." 

"  You?  "  was  the  astonished  response.  "  Of 
course  I  didn't  give  it  to  you.  I  gave  it  to 
Mr.  Smith,  that  grizzle-headed  little  old  man 
with  the  whiskers,  on  the  right  hand  of  the 
center  aisle,  third  seat  down." 

In  one  second  Gumshoe  made  a  rush  for  the 
meek  little  old  farmer  from  the  southern  end 
of  the  state,  who  hadn't  said  a  word  during 
the  whole  session  excepting  to  answer  on  roll 

136 


With  a  fierce  grip  on  the  old  far 
mer'1 s  shoulder  Gumshoe  blurted  out 
"You  pious  old  sneak  thief!"1 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

call.  About  half  of  the  members  hadn't  dis 
covered  that  his  name  was  Smith — and  those 
who  had  distinguished  between  him  from  the 
other  Smith  by  giving  him  his  right  surname, 
while  they  always  spoke  of  the  main  Smith 
as  Gumshoe.  This  was  how  the  doorkeeper 
happened  to  send  the  innocent  young  man  to 
Farmer  Smith  instead  of  Gumshoe  from  the 
river  district. 

With  a  fierce  grip  on  the  old  farmer's  shoul 
der  Gumshoe  blurted  out: 

"  Here,  you  old  pious  sneak  thief,  just  fork 
over  that  stuff  right  quick  or  I'll  smash  every 
bone  in  your  body." 

With  a  shaking  hand  the  scared  farmer 
made  a  dive  into  his  inside  pocket,  pulled  out 
the  long  envelope,  and  handed  it  over.  When 
Gumshoe  saw  that  it  had  been  opened  he  gave 
a  nasty  laugh  and  said: 

"  If  you  ever  peep  on  this  I'll  teach  you  that 
there's  such  a  thing  as  honor  among  thieves." 

On  the  roll  call  Gumshoe  voted  for  the  bill, 
and  voted  hard.  As  several  of  the  member? 
sitting  near  had  heard  snatches  of  the  conver- 

139 


TATTLINGS  OF 


sation  an  inkling  of  the  story  leaked  out  and 
got  into  the  newspapers.  Of  course,  Farmer 
Smith  put  up  the  defense  that  he  wasn't  going 
to  keep  the  money. 

Some  believed  this  and  some  didn't.  Any 
how,  both  of  the  men  were  roasted  to  a  crisp 
in  the  newspapers  and  any  one  would  natur 
ally  have  concluded  that  neither  of  the  Smiths 
would  ever  dare  to  run  for  pathmaster.  But 
the  records  show  that  they  were  both  back 
again  in  the  House  inside  of  four  years  and 
Gumshoe,  as  you  probably  remember,  was 
later  sent  to  the  Senate. 

And  so,  Ned,  you  will  see  why  I  don't  put 
quite  as  much  confidence  in  the  memory  or 
the  constancy  of  the  ordinary  constituency  as 
your  letter  leads  me  to  think  you  do.  The 
average  American  king  can  forget  benefac 
tions  and  forget  crimes  about  as  nimbly  as  any 
other  kind  of  a  king.  My  advice  is:  Don't 
scrimp  your  next  campaign  fund  because  you 
have  turned  a  good  trick  for  your  people;  get 
hold  of  some  new  issue  and  convince  them  that 

140 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

it's  their  only  salvation  and  just  as  necessary 
as  the  thing  you  have  already  landed. 

I'm  mighty  sorry  that  I  can't  be  on  hand  for 
the  wedding;  but  I  want  to  say  that  I'd  rather 
see  you  married  to  Kate  than  witness  your 
entrance  into  the  United  States  Senate.  You 
may  think  the  latter  is  a  long  way  off — and 
so  it  may  be — but  I  like  the  way  you've  trotted 
your  trial  heats  and  I'm  expecting  more  of  you 
than  some  fellows  who  can't  see  beyond  the 
lines  of  a  printed  pedigree. 

Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


PUPPETS  AND  PULLS. 

The  new  joys  of  home  life  have 
caused  Ned  to  feel  the  responsibility 
of  making  substantial  provision  for 
his  family  in  the  way  of  going  out 
after  a  fat  Federal  job — and  he  in- 
timates  that  he  has  a  political  pull 
which  will  do  the  work  of  a  steam 
derrick.  This  spurs  the  old  Gover 
nor  to  offer  a  few  observations  on 
the  reliable  uncertainty  of  pulls  in 
general  and  proves  his  point  by  a 
story  of  a  pull  that  outdid  all  ex 
pectations. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PUPPETS  AND   PULLS. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

I'm  mighty  glad  that  you  find  the  pres 
ent  joys  of  your  new  home  better  than 
any  picture  of  a  future  paradise  painted  in 
the  sermons  that  Elder  Ripp  used  to  preach 
to  you  in  the  little  old  Free  Will  church  those 
Sundays  when  you  opened  the  campaign  by 
taking  up  your  devotional  duties  again.  I  al 
ways  did  think  you  were  put  on  the  light  run 
ning  domestic  order  and  that  you'd  drop  grace 
fully  into  the  responsibilities  of  married  life. 

Consequently,  I'm  not  surprised  to  have  you 
write  in  a  strain  that  shows  you  are  disgust 
ingly  happy  and  that  you  have  some  earthly 
interest  beyond  the  glory  of  representing  a  con 
stituency  and  being  an  exalted  errand  boy  for 
a  bunch  of  folks  you  wouldn't  hire  out  to  for 
day  wages.  It's  good  for  you  to  feel  that 
there's  something  in  life  beyond  pulling  and 

145 


TATTLINGS  OF 


being  pulled — and  for  that  which  "profitetb 
not." 

Your  decision  to  make  a  try  for  some  good 
fat  appointment  that  will  put  you  in  position 
to  provide  for  your  wife  is  a  practical  resolu 
tion — but  it  recalls  to  me  a  certain  speech 
which  you  delivered  at  Canada  Corners,  on 
the  fourth  of  July,  in  which  you  magnified  the 
glories  of  an  elective  and  representative  office 
and  dealt  out  high  scorn  for  the  "  political  pot 
hunters  "  who  "  prostituted  ambition  for  pub 
lic  service  and  made  it  a  matter  of  ignoble  com 
merce." 

Those  were  your  words,  Ned;  but  I  can  for 
give  your  change  of  heart  when  I  remember 
that  you  were  dealing  a  side  cut  to  the  boss  of 
the  other  machine,  who  let  the  other  fellows 
take  all  the  elective,  bandstand  places  while 
he  dropped  quietly  into  the  kind  of  a  nest 
you  are  now  looking  for.  Then,  again,  you're 
just  married — and  that  is  enough  to  account 
for  almost  any  sort  of  a  stampede  in  the  di 
rection  of  settled  income  and  "  secure  tenure 
of  service." 

146 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

But  the  man  who  can  plunge  into  matrimony 
and  at  the  same  time  stake  his  future  on  the 
efficacy  of  political  pulls  is  so  full  of  faith  that 
he  ought  to  be  talking  from  behind  a  pulpit 
instead  of  prancing  around  on  the  stump. 

In  all  the  calendar  of  "  long  shots,"  the  po 
litical  pull  is  the  rangiest  and  most  cocksure 
uncertainty.  Of  course,  you're  going  to  come 
back  at  me  with  the  statement  that  the  po 
litical  pull  may  be  depended  upon  not  to  real 
ize  more  than  the  candidate's  expectations. 
Generally  that's  so — but  such  is  the  consistency 
of  this  splendid  uncertainty  that  I'll  have  to 
tell  you  what  happened  to  my  friend  Driggs, 
just  over  the  state  line.  He's  recently  been 
out  to  visit  me,  and  so  the  matter  is  fresh  in 
my  mind. 

Now,  Billy  was  always  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fence  from  me,  politically,  and  I  used  to 
rally  him  about  being  always  out  in  the  cold. 
But  he  kept  right  at  the  mourner's  bench,  lead 
ing  the  faithful  and  exhorting  the  political 
sinners  to  come  forward  and  get  the  true  light. 
And  all  this  time  Billy's  law  practice  continued 

147 


TATTLINGS  OF 


to  grow  lighter  and  his  line  of  credit  and  long 
time  notes  heavier. 

Well,  as  you  know,  his  side  finally  came  in 
on  the  great  tidal  wave.  I  never  saw  a  pastor 
who  had  prayed  and  sowed  and  watered  and 
waited  for  the  increase  who  was  more  sur 
prised  when  a  real  red  hot  revival  actually 
opened  up  right  at  his  feet  and  made  the  rafters 
ring  with  the  shouts  of  the  saved  than  was 
Billy  when  he  heard  that  the  country  had  gone 
his  way.  Naturally,  he  had  the  pulchritude 
of  a  singed  cat.  What  came  out  of  his  face, 
when  he  talked  to  a  crowd,  however,  was  so 
much  beyond  the  promise  of  the  face  it  came 
from  that  the  people  took  to  him  like  women 
to  religion.  It  seemed  as  if  they  had  tired  of 
the  handsome,  "  black  eagle,"  imposing  type 
of  political  hero,  and  were  ready  to  find  relief 
in  the  plain,  red  headed,  pug  nosed,  freckled, 
and  sawed  off  sort  of  a  leader  that  came  under 
the  head  of  Billy  Driggs. 

Anyhow,  he  was  given  credit  for  carrying 
his  part  of  the  state — and  his  other  line  of 
credit  began  to  pick  up  considerably,  too,  as 

148 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

the  war  horses  gathered  at  the  county  seat 
and  talked  over  the  office  that  Billy  would 
probably  be  appointed  to. 

Well,  he  finally  went  on  to  Washington  with 
all  the  pulls  that  he  could  scare  up  working 
overtime  in  his  behalf.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  strike  high  and  ask  for  the  position 
of  United  States  marshal  for  his  end  of  the 
state.  The  marshalship  paid  $6,000  a  year — 
and  that  was  more  money  than  he  had  handled 
in  six  years.  Every  little  while,  before  Billy 
went  up  to  Jerusalem  to  the  great  feast  of  the 
chosen,  he  would  stop  and  say  to  himself,  "  Too 
good  to  be  true!  Too  good  to  happen  to  me!  " 

Now,  while  Billy  had  always  been  a  twelve 
hour  laborer  in  the  vineyard,  he  was  so  ab 
sorbed  in  the  conversion  of  sinners  that  he 
didn't  know  what  the  fat  places  on  the  circuit 
paid — and  he  had  to  ask  what  was  the  best 
paying  appointment  ever  held  by  a  man  from 
that  district  before  he  knew  what  to  apply  for. 
"  Topnotch  or  nothing,"  was  his  battle  cry 
when  he  went  out  for  the  indorsement  of  the 
party  leaders. 

149 


TATTLINGS  OF 


He  had  seen  so  many  lean  years  of  faithful 
service  when  the  enemy  held  the  corner  on 
all  the  official  cribs  that,  now  in  the  days  of  his 
party's  fatness  and  of  his  own  righteous  re 
ward,  the  habit  of  good,  honest  hustling  stuck 
to  him,  and  he  lined  up  an  array  of  pulls  and 
indorsements  that  made  him  swell  with  happi 
ness  every  time  he  went  over  the  list.  "  Some 
folks  have  to  die  before  they  can  get  that  sort 
of  thing,"  he  would  say  as  he  tapped  the  bundle 
of  indorsements. 

In  Washington  he  kept  right  on  hustling  just 
as  if  he'd  only  started  out  with  his  petition. 
The  public  men  seemed  to  take  to  his  style  of 
beauty,  and  even  the  President  was  uncom 
monly  gracious  to  Billy  when  Congressman 
Skipp  introduced  him.  The  wise  ones  told 
Billy  that  he  was  all  right,  and  that  nothing 
short  of  an  O.  K.  on  an  application  ever  went 
with  that  peculiar  brand  of  smile. 

But  somehow  the  appointment  didn't  come 
out  quite  as  quickly  as  Billy  had  hoped — and 
this  delay  only  made  him  hustle  the  harder. 
His  only  antidote  for  "  hope  deferred  "  was 


"It's  a  mis takeT  he  started  to 
shout,  when  a  friend  yanked  him  back 
into  his  seat. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

more  hustling.    And  he  did  it  in  a  quiet,  unob 
trusive  way  that  didn't  stir  up  opposition. 

One  day,  however,  when  Billy  was  about  to 
cinch  himself  up  again  for  another  "  pull " 
campaign,  he  got  word  that  something  was 
going  to  happen  at  the  Senate  that  afternoon 
which  might  be  of  particular  interest  to  him. 
He  was  there  in  the  gallery  listening  to  every 
word  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  oracle  of 
the  chair.  Finally  he  heard  his  own  name  read 
off  in  connection  with  the  words,  "  To  be  col 
lector  of  the  port." 

Billy  jumped  to  his  feet  in  a  minute  as  if  he 
were  back  home  in  a  county  convention  and 
some  Indian  was  trying  to  commit  the  party 
to  a  hopeless  heresy. 

"  It's  a  mistake,"  he  started  to  shout,  when 
the  friend  who  was  with  him  laid  violent  hands 
on  his  coat  tails,  yanked  him  back  into  his  seat 
and  said: 

"  Shut  up,  you  fool !  What  if  it  is  a  mistake ! 
Don't  you  know  the  collectorship  pays  $12,000 
a  year!  Mistakes  of  that  kind  don't  happen 

153 


TATTLINGS  OF 


to  anybody  but  fools  and  the  elect — and  you're 
not  anybody's  fool! " 

Well,  it  turned  out  that  Billy's  appointment 
stuck,  and  he  made  good  in  such  a  way  that  a 
bunch  of  big  fellows  in  his  party  took  an  in 
terest  in  him  and  put  him  in  the  way  of  mak 
ing  more  money  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of 
seeing.  And  he  made  it  honestly,  too.  Then 
his  fame  as  a  party  oracle  spread  with  the 
growth  of  his  bank  account  until  now  he  is 
known  in  every  state  in  the  union  among  the 
solid  moneyed  men. 

I  hope,  Ned,  that  your  pull  will  be  of  this 
"  thirty  baskets  of  fragments  "  kind,  but  I'm 
afraid  that  you're  not  quite  enough  of  a  singed 
cat  to  have  a  claim  to  that  kind  of  luck. 

When  it  comes  time  to  put  on  the  screws  and 
really  come  to  a  showdown,  I  hope  you'll  not 
have  quite  the  experience  that  came  to  a  young 
chap  from  my  old  home  town,  who  went  out 
into  the  sheep  country,  made  friends  as  fast 
as  he  lost  money,  and  finally  landed  the  com 
fortable  little  job  of  reading  clerk  in  the  house. 

Jim  had  a  voice  like   the   sound   of   many 

154 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

waters,  the  presence  of  a  Presidential  possi 
bility  and  the  nerve  of  a  goat.  He  fitted  into 
the  place  as  handy  as  a  hoe  into  dirt,  and  made 
friends  of  the  Mammon  of  unrighteousness 
right  and  left.  Before  the  session  was  fairly 
under  way  he  had  done  a  trick  or  two  that 
made  him  solid  with  the  strong  minority  and 
he  was  considered  a  sort  of  consulting  pilot 
for  any  difficult  piece  of  legislative  navigation 
that  came  up.  Beside  him,  the  Wobbly  Willie 
speaker  was  small  potatoes. 

One  day  a  member  came  to  him  and  said: 
"  Jim,  how  in  tunket  am  I  going  to  get  that 
bill  of  mine  through  creating  the  office  of  state 
oil  inspector?  You  see,  they  killed  my  meas 
ure  in  the  Senate,  and  I  got  even  by  burying 
the  Senate  bill,  to  the  same  effect,  here  in  the 
House." 

"  Looks  a  great  deal  as  if  the  state  would 
worry  along  awhile  without  an  oil  inspector," 
said  Jim,  "  but  if  there's  a  ghost  of  a  show  to, 
I'm  going  to  help  you  out,  Tom,  for  I've  made 
up  my  mind  to  land  that  particular  job  my 
self." 

155 


TATTLINGS  OF 


"  Well,"  replied  Tom,  "  my  goose  is  cooked 
if  I  don't  get  that  bill  through.  I  can't  sup 
port  you  for  the  place  when  it's  made;  but  I 
won't  do  anything  in  particular  to  keep  you 
from  getting  it." 

"  There's  just  one  bluff  that  may  work," 
said  Jim,  "  if  the  measly  parliamentary  stick 
lers  don't  catch  on  to  the  game.  Spring  a  reso 
lution  for  a  conference  committee  of  five — two 
from  the  Senate  and  three  from  the  House — 
and  have  the  bill  revised  and  put  through." 

This  scheme  worked,  the  bill  was  passed,  and 
inside  of  a  week  every  member  of  Jim's  polit 
ical  faith  in  the  House,  with  two  exceptions, 
went  before  the  Governor  in  a  body  and  asked 
for  his  appointment  to  the  new  position,  which 
was  worth  $20,000  a  year. 

"  This  is  the  strongest  indorsement  any  man 
has  ever  had  for  any  appointment,"  replied  the 
Governor,  "  and  the  request  of  this  delegation 
shall  be  granted  if  it  is  within  my  power  to 
do  so." 

Privately  the  Governor  explained  to  Jim  that 
he  made  this  slight  reservation  for  fear  that 

156 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

possibly  he  might  have  given  the  Senator  who 
introduced  the  "  oil  bill "  to  understand  that 
he  was  favorably  inclined  toward  a  friend  of 
the  Senator's.  Later,  Jim  was  informed  that 
the  records  of  executive  correspondence 
showed  no  such  entanglement  and  that  his 
appointment  would  be  made  as  soon  as  circum 
stances  would  permit.  But,  somehow,  there 
appeared  to  be  a  regular  glut  of  executive  cir 
cumstances,  and  the  big  plum  still  stuck  to  the 
tree  in  spite  of  all  the  shaking  Jim  could  do. 
Finally,  months  afterward,  when  Jim's  bank 
account  was  wasted  to  a  shadow  from  an  acute 
attack  of  creeping  consumption,  he  got  a 
straight  tip  from  a  square  politician,  who  had 
one  leg  in  the  grave,  that  the  Governor  had 
appointed  another  fellow.  Then  Jim  went  up 
to  the  mansion  and  put  his  case  strong.  He 
got  a  square  in  the  eye  assurance  that  all  was 
well  and  that  the  delay  was  simply  for  reason 
of  executive  policy. 

Next  day,  while  the  man  with  the  pull  of 
practically  a  solid  party  at  his  back  and  work- 

157 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ing  overtime  was  pondering  and  guessing,  he 
was  called  to  the  chamber. 

"  Your  state  needs  you,"  said  the  Governor, 
"  in  another  capacity,  sir,  and  I  shall  not  take 
*  No '  for  an  answer.  I  am  about  to  make  up 
a  commission  to  exploit  to  the  world  one  of 
the  greatest  industries  of  our  commonwealth. 
You  know  that  industry,  as  few  of  our  citizens 
do ;  true,  there  is  no  salary  attached  to  the  po 
sition,  but  your  labor  will  bring  you  in  contact 
with  the  great  captains  of  finance,  and  the 
way  will  speedily  open  for  you  to  make  a  great 
deal  of  money.  Your  sacrifice  in  letting  the 
other  position  pass  will  be  only  temporary  and 
you  will  soon  come  into  your  reward." 

Before  Jim  could  catch  his  breath  and  get 
his  bearings  he  had  accepted  a  tinfoil  honor. 
When  the  announcement  of  the  appointment 
was  made  the  state  boss  came  to  Jim  and  ex 
plained  : 

"  You  old  ninny !  Two  months  ago  the  Gov 
ernor  gave  his  absolute  pledge  that  he  would 
make  you  oil  inspector,  but  bound  me  not  to 
tell  you  because  you  might  tell  your  wife  and 

158 


"The  State  needs  you"  said  the 
Governor  "in  another  capacity,  and  I 
shall  not  take*  no1  for  an  answer" 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

let  the  thing  leak  out  before  he  could  fix  his 
fences  for  the  United  States  Senatorship.  And 
now  he's  worked  you  into  trading  $20,000  a 
year  for  a  tin  horn." 

Jim  meditated  for  a  while  on  the  perverse- 
ness  of  dead  sure  pulls  and  then  started  in  on 
a  campaign  that  cost  the  Governor  the  Senator- 
ship. 

But  that  didn't  pay  his  grocery  bills,  and 
before  the  next  session  he  saw  several  hungry 
days.  And  I  could  tell  you  a  dozen  other  inci 
dents  that  show  as  clearly  how  a  double  riv 
eted  pull  can  taper  off  into  thin  air  and  an 
empty  stomach.  So,  don't  rent  a  new  house, 
buy  bonds,  or  throw  over  your  present  job  un 
til  you  have  the  commission  that  you  hanker 
for  actually  in  your  hands. 

Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


GRAFTERS   AND   STINGERS. 

Commenting  on  Ned's  surprise 
that  a  seasoned  politician  has  "  sold 
himself  for  thirty  cents,"  William 
Bradley  gives  his  notions  of  grafters 
and  indulges  in  a  story  and  a  few 
epigrams  to  drive  home  the  point, 
taking  his  text  from  his  boyhood  ex 
periences  in  breaking  up  "bumbl« 
bees'  nests." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
GRAFTERS  AND  STINGERS. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

When  you  size  up  a  bunch  of  aldermen  or  a 
new  legislature,  just  remember  the  simple  lit 
tle  fact  of  natural  history  that  a  "  bumble  " 
bee  is  always  biggest  right  after  it's  hatched. 
The  average  alderman  or  legislator — especially 
if  he's  inclined  to  be  "  on  the  make  " — is  about 
seven  times  larger  and  more  important  in  his 
first  term  than  he  will  ever  be  again. 

You  seem  to  be  surprised  that  our  old  friend 
Kite  sold  himself  for  about  30  cents  after  hav 
ing  been  in  politics  for  as  many  years,  and 
that  he  hates  and  fights  the  decent  men  who 
wouldn't  do  the  same  trick.  If  the  corporation 
had  attempted  to  land  him  at  that  price  in  his 
first  term  he  would  have  been  so  mad  that  like 
ly  he'd  made  a  bluff  at  exposing  the  attempt  to 
tamper  with  his  "  honor  " ;  but  the  passage  of 
time  is  likely  to  make  a  little  shrinkage  in  most 

165 


TATTLINGS  OF 


things,  including  the  importance  of  an  alder 
man  or  a  legislator.  There's  nothing  I  know 
of  that  loses  so  much  of  size  in  the  seasoning 
process  as  a  politician — excepting  a  "  bumble  " 
bee  and  a  basswood  log. 

Your  story  about  Kite  Hendee  puts  me  in 
mind  of  a  little  chapter  in  the  gentle  art  of 
grafting  that  bears  right  on  this  "bumble" 
bee  point  and  is  worth  remembering.  Up  in 
the  city  a  plumber  was  elected  to  the  board  of 
aldermen.  He  didn't  calculate  to  put  in  his 
time  in  the  council  just  to  cure  himself  of  hay 
fever,  and  there  wasn't  a  fresh  baked  city  father 
in  the  bunch  that  felt  his  oats  like  Barney 
Brennan.  The  flowers  on  his  desk  that  first 
night  looked  like  a  composite  of  all  the  Dutch 
posey  beds  in  Little  Germany,  and  one  of  the 
newspaper  boys  remarked  that  the  corpora 
tions  would  have  to  pay  for  that  floral  display 
at  Easter  prices. 

Being  a  plumber,  Barney  naturally  was  used 
to  pretty  stiff  prices  anyway,  and  had  acquired 
the  habit  of  charging  up  time  from  the  minute 
he  began  to  look  for  his  tools  till  he  returned 

166 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

and  had  sharpened  his  pipe  cutters  ready  for 
the  next  job. 

Now,  the  little  Hoosier  who  was  looking 
after  the  interests  of  one  of  the  street  railroad 
companies  had  broken  up  enough  "  bumbles'  " 
nests  in  his  boyhood  to  know  something  about 
the  law  of  shrinkages,  and,  as  he  had  been  in 
the  house  building  business  for  several  years, 
was  fairly  familiar  with  the  general  habits  of 
plumbers. 

There  was  a  little  trick  that  the  Hoosier 
wanted  to  put  through  the  council,  but  there 
wasn't  enough  involved  to  make  it  really  a  first 
class  object  from  an  aldermanic  standpoint. 
Consequently,  as  the  council  contained  a  lot 
of  new  members  who  were  mightily  impressed 
with  their  own  importance,  the  scout  for  the 
street  railway  company  had  to  figure  close  and 
make  up  in  cunning  what  he  lacked  in  available 
coin  with  which  to  grease  the  job. 

All  the  hold-overs  that  could  be  done  business 
with  were  lined  up  quick,  and  at  the  regular 
discount-in-large-quantities  rate.  But  he  was 
considerable  short  of  the  required  number  of 


TATTLINGS  OF 


votes,  and  had  to  raise  his  prices  in  several  in 
stances  to  get  the  new  men  that  could  be  seen 
at  all.  He  sent  one  of  the  old  members  to  sound 
Barney,  the  plumber,  but  that  dignitary  sniffed 
at  the  offer  of  $500,  and  swore  by  the  great  Gas 
Pipe  Cinch  that  he  wouldn't  consider  anything 
less  than  $1,000. 

According  to  the  little  Hoosier's  score  card, 
the  game  was  up  with  him  unless  he  could  get 
Barney  into  line — but,  of  course,  Barney  didn't 
know  that  his  vote  was  the  key  to  the  whole 
situation.  Some  of  the  Hoosier's  advisers  got 
anxious  about  the  situation  and  kept  asking 
if  he  wasn't  going  to  come  to  Barney's  terms 
"  just  for  a  starter." 

"  Nope,"  said  the  Hoosier, "  can't  afford  that. 
It  establishes  a  bad  precedent — and,  besides, 
he'll  come  around  all  right  when  the  time 


comes." 


"Don't  you  think  it,"  said  the  fellows. 
"  He's  bigger  in  his  own  mind  right  now  than 
the  Mayor  himself.  You'd  better  settle  with 
him  this  once,  and  after  a  while  he'll  get  some 

168 


"  said  the  Hoosier,  "carit 
afford  that.  It  establishes  a  bad  pre 
cedent" 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

sense  and  come  down  to  hardpan  prices  like 
the  rest  of  us." 

But  the  Hoosier  only  shook  his  head,  grinned 
and  said  that  Barney  would  drop  into  line  with 
out  any  trouble.  The  night  the  resolution 
came  up  for  final  vote  there  hadn't  been  a 
change  of  a  figure  on  the  little  Hoosier's  score 
card.  He  confided  this  to  the  friend  who  sat 
right  behind  Barney,  and,  handing  him  a  long 
manila  envelope,  he  said : 

"  If  that  plumber  pirate  gets  up  to  make  a 
spiel  against  our  resolution,  just  keep  one  eye 
on  me ;  the  minute  I  take  off  my  eyeglasses  and 
start  to  rub  them  with  my  handkerchief,  you 
reach  around  in  front  of  Barney  and  put  this 
envelope  on  his  desk.  I  guess  he'll  take  a  twist 
on  his  tiller  and  round  his  bow  into  the  wind 
when  he  sees  what's  put  up  to  him.  I'll  be  up 
by  the  clerk's  desk  with  the  newspaper  boys." 

Things  were  run  quite  wide  open  in  those 
days  in  the  council  and  bolder  hands  had  been 
played  than  the  showdown  the  Hoosier  out 
lined.  Well,  sure  enough,  Barney  arose  in  his 
seat  to  speak  on  the  resolution.  Like  most 

171 


TATTLINGS  OF 


new  members  he  hung  on  to  his  desk  with  a 
death  grip  and  seemed  afraid  the  whole  floor 
would  slide  out  from  under  him  if  he  should  let 
go  for  a  second.  But  he  had  set  himself  to  sail 
the  eagle  a  little  and  at  the  same  time  to  let 
the  fellows  who  were  doing  things  understand 
that  they  had  a  heavyweight  to  deal  with  when 
they  didn't  come  to  his  terms.  They  couldn't 
trifle  with  his  affections  without  getting  a  blow 
with  a  lead  pipe  that  would  make  itself  felt! 

After  his  throat  was  cleared  and  the  buck 
fever  had  got  out  of  his  voice,  he  began  to  lay 
the  foundations  for  a  forty  minute  indictment 
against  the  street  car  company  calculated  to 
put  that  "  bloated  incubus  "  out  of  business 
for  all  time.  He  had  sunk  the  piles  and  put  in 
the  underground  stonework  of  his  speech  when 
the  little  Hoosier  calmly  took  off  his  glasses 
and  began  to  rub  them  with  his  handkerchief. 

Instantly  the  alderman  behind  Barney 
caught  the  signal,  reached  forward  and  laid 
the  long  envelope  on  the  orator's  desk.  The 
speaker  continued  for  a  few  minutes  and  then 
paused  for  a  drink  of  water.  As  he  did  so  he 

172 


The  little  Hoosicr  calmly  took 
off  his  glasses  and  began  to  rub  them 
with  his  pocket  handkerchief. 


Instantly  the  alderman  behind 
Barney  caught  the  signal,  reached 
forward  and  laid  the  long  envelope  on 
the  orator' s  desk. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

stole  a  glance  at  the  envelope  and  saw  a  figure 
"  i,"  followed  by  three  ciphers  written  in  pen 
cil  on  the  corner  of  the  envelope.  He  put  the 
drinking  glass  down  over  the  figures  and  then 
proceeded  in  the  same  strain.  The  face  of  the 
Hoosier's  friend  fell  like  a  batch  of  sour  dough. 
And  it  didn't  change  until  the  speaker  paused 
and  took  a  new  grip  with  the  words : 

"  An'  now,  gentlemen,  this  is  one  side  of  the 
situation.  There  are  always  two  sides  to  every 
case,  and  a  spirit  of  judicial  fairness  compels 
me  to  present  the  other  side.  Between  two 
evils  we  must  choose  the  least.  While  the  reso 
lution  would  benefit  a  graspin'  corporation,  its 
defeat  would  deprive  the  people  of  rights  and 
privileges  that  are  of  inestimable  value." 

Then  he  went  ahead  and  put  out  as  plausible 
a  line  of  argument  as  the  little  Hoosier  him 
self  could  have  furnished.  And  he  wound  up 
with  the  declaration : 

"  I  have  not  hesitated  to  expose  the  motives 
that  have  influenced  this  monopoly  to  ask  for 
the  resolution  before  us;  but,  gentlemen,  I  am 
compelled  to  vote  for  its  passage  because  it  is 


TATTLINGS  OF 


the  best  thing  for  the  people.  Experience 
should  teach  us  that  when  this  hungry  cor 
poration  gives  us  three-quarters  of  a  loaf  we 
should  grab  it  before  it  is  too  late." 

When  Barney  sat  down  some  one  nudged 
the  little  Hoosier  and  whispered :  "  Must  have 
met  his  price,  eh?  Or,  mebbe,  he  raised  on  you 
the  last  minute.  But  it  hain't  fair  to  us  fellows 
who  stand  by  you  right  along  to  get  the  small 
change  while  the  fancy  sums  go  to  these  gos- 
lins  that  are  fresh  from  the  nest." 

"Just  you  go  out  with  Barney,"  says  the 
Hoosier,  "  and  watch  him  when  he  opens  up 
his  envelope  over  in  Billy  Ryan's  place.  Take 
him  into  a  private  stall — you  two  alone — and 
give  him  champagne  until  his  tongue  is  loos 
ened.  I'll  stand  the  bill." 

"  A  wink's  as  good  as  a  nod  to  a  blind  horse," 
said  the  member  as  he  started  for  Barney's 
seat  and  cinched  the  invitation.  After  adjourn 
ment  the  two  went  into  retirement  together  in 
one  of  Billy  Ryan's  stalls  and  opened  a  few 
bottles  of  extra  dry  and  ate  a  beefsteak  on  the 
side.  Every  once  in  a  while  Barney's  fingers 

176 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

would  stray  into  his  inside  coat  pocket  as  if  to 
make  sure  something  was  there.  Finally,  the 
friend  said : 

"  Old  man,  you're  one  of  the  Ancient  and 
Honorable  Gray  Wolves  now.  If  you  don't 
know  that  they're  a  mighty  square  set  and  al 
ways  pull  together  you'll  find  it  out  soon. 
There's  no  squealing  and  no  secrets  in  the 
pack.  Better  pull  out  that  envelope  and  see 
what  you  draw.  I  never  saw  anything  so  slick 
as  the  way  you  brought  'em  to  time." 

Barney  stiffened  up,  said  something  about 
being  able  to  play  the  game  if  he  hadn't  been 
long  in  it,  and  drew  out  the  envelope.  "  I  guess 
none  of  the  boys  did  any  better  'n  that,"  he 
added,  pointing  to  the  figures.  "One  thou 
sand  ain't  so  bad  for  the  first  meeting." 

"  One  thousand — cents!"  exclaimed  his  com 
panion.  "  I  guess  you'd  better  have  your  eyes 
tested  for  glasses,  old  man.  A  decimal  point, 
if  it  is  mighty  small,  cuts  a  big  figure  in  this 
business,  I  can  tell  you,  where  we've  got  to  take 
things  on  their  face  and  count  the  goods  after 
wards." 

177 


TATTLINGS  OF 


"Cents!"  yelled  Barney,  ripping  open  the 
envelope  and  dropping  a  bright,  new  $10  bill 
into  his  plate.  Barney  always  ordered  his  steak 
extra  rare  but  they  say  that  when  he  had  got 
done  using  the  Irish  language  that  night  his 
steak  was  burned  to  a  crisp  and  crinkled  up 
around  the  edges  like  a  German  pancake.  He 
made  such  an  uproar  that  the  other  aldermen 
who  had  dropped  in  after  the  session  to  take  a 
little  nourishment  and  sit  up  and  notice  things, 
came  rushing  into  the  stall. 

Of  course,  the  whole  story  was  out  in  a  min 
ute — just  as  the  Hoosier  had  intended  it  to  be, 
only  without  the  necessity  of  giving  it  away 
himself. 

But  you  may  be  sure  the  Hoosier  spread  the 
gospel  of  the  $10  bill  in  every  precinct  club  in 
Barney's  ward  until  the  alderman  couldn't  go 
up  an  alley  without  being  grinned  at  by  the 
wise  ones.  Then  the  Hoosier  sent  a  trim  little 
bruiser  who  was  handy  with  his  fists  down  into 
the  ward  to  finish  the  job  of  making  a  monkey 
of  the  Hon.  Barney.  The  lightweight  hap 
pened  into  a  place  where  the  alderman  was  at- 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

tempting  to  recover  lost  ground  by  flooding 
the  ward  with  beer.  After  an  introduction  the 
slugger  gayly  started  in  to  joke  Barney  about 
the  $10  ordinance. 

Instantly  the  alderman,  who  was  a  big  fel 
low,  thought  he  saw  a  way  to  make  good  with 
his  people  and  he  struck  right  out  from  the 
shoulder.  But  the  little  athlete  dodged,  and 
when  he  finished  up  with  Barney  that  city 
father  looked  like  a  slice  of  fresh  liver. 

That  winter  Barney  scattered  Christmas  tur 
keys  among  "  his  people "  as  lavishly  as  if 
they  were  sparrows.  But  the  whole  ward 
continued  to  grin  whenever  his  name  was  men 
tioned,  and  it  was  carried  against  him  at  the 
next  primaries  by  a  young  chap  who  had  once 
been  a  theological  student  and  was  suspected 
of  being  a  half-baked  prohibitionist. 

But,  to  go  back  to  the  "  bumble  "  bee  propo 
sition  :  I've  broken  up  enough  nests  in  the  old 
south  meadow,  when  I  was  a  boy,  to  prevent 
me  from  seeing  out  of  both  eyes  for  a  week; 
but  the  lessons  I  learned  while  nursing  my 
stings  have  stood  me  in  good  stead  in  many  a 

179 


TATTLINGS  OF 


campaign.  One  of  the  things  that  has  stuck 
to  me,  from  those  sore  reflections,  is  the  ob 
servation  that  the  coward  who  dodges  behind 
the  fellow  that  does  the  fighting  is  the  one  that 
wants  most  of  the  honey  and  howls  loudest 
when  he  happens  to  get  stung. 

If  that  isn't  the  way  in  the  world  of  poli 
tics,  then  I  never  led  a  certain  fight  back  in 
the  old  state  that  is  still  remembered  by  the 
seasoned  warhorses  of  the  party!  Find  a  fel 
low  whose  mouth  waters  to  catch  the  drip 
pings  from  a  piece  of  political  honeycomb,  and 
who  wants  the  other  boys  to  be  contented  with 
"  bee  bread,"  and  you've  got  a  man  that'll  hide 
behind  your  back  when  you're  under  fire.  Our 
friend  Kite  was  of  just  that  sort. 

Then,  again,  the  "  bumblers  "  taught  me  that 
when  the  chief  end  of  existence  is  to  plant  a 
stinger  where  it'll  do  the  most  good  there  may 
be  a  whole  lot  of  savage  satisfaction  in  the 
process — but  it's  sure  death  to  the  one  that 
lands  the  stinger !  The  whole  highway  of  poli 
tics  is  scattered  with  the  carcasses  of  bright 
politicians  who  acquired  a  passion  for  stinging; 

1 80 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

they  finally  got  in  their  work  but  every  boy 
that  has  broken  up  a  "  bumbler's  "  nest  knows 
that  the  bee  that  lands  a  stinger  gives  up  his 
life  along  with  it. 

So,  N^d,  don't  mind  the  Grafters  or  the 
Stingers,    You'll  outlive  them  all. 
Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley 


181 


QUITTERS  AND  STAYERS 

Ned  has  told  his  troubles  to  his 
old  friend  and  confessed  that  he  is 
considerably  torn  up  by  the  discov 
ery  that  there  are  several  traitors 
and  a  bunch  of  weak-kneed  camp 
followers  in  his  ranks.  This  stirs 
the  old  veteran  to  vent  his  feelings 
on  the  subject  of  the  various  stripes 
of  politicians  to  be  found  in  every 
camp.  He  gives  his  opinion  of  their 
relative  importance  and  illustrates 
his  meaning  by  an  anecdote  of  poli 
tics  "  up  in  the  Hill  Country  be 
yond  Judea." 


CHAPTER  IX. 
QUITTERS  AND  STAYERS. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

I'm  glad  that  my  passing  remarks  on  the 
general  cussedness  of  grafters  and  stingers 
gave  you  the  consolation  they  were  intended 
to  carry.  Judging  from  the  letter  before  me, 
you  seem  to  be  learning  a  good  deal  in  a  short 
space  of  time  about  the  different  species  into 
which  the  general  family  of  Politician  is  sub 
divided;  and  it  strikes  me  that  the  particular 
breeds  now  claiming  your  attention  are  the 
Quitters  and  the  Stayers. 

The  atmosphere  of  politics  doesn't  seem  es 
pecially  suited  to  the  raising  of  spiritual  or 
chids;  but  there  isn't  another  field  of  human 
effort  in  which  the  rougher  virtues  shine  to 
better  advantage  or  the  meanness  of  the  hu 
man  mind  can  crop  up  in  a  more  contemptible 
way.  The  thing  best  loved  in  a  politician  is 
that  which  makes  a  burdock  the  best  hated 

185 


TATTLINGS  OF 


weed  on  earth — the  quality  of  sticking  through 
thick  and  thin.  A  good  old  fashioned  dock 
burr  is  the  sort  of  a  floral  emblem  for  me  when 
going  into  the  ups  and  downs  of  politics;  no 
matter  whether  your  campaign  fund  is  50 
cents  or  $50,000,  the  burrs  and  the  real  stayers 
will  stick  so  tight  you  can't  separate  them 
from  you  without  individually  pulling  them 
into  pieces.  The  Stayers  may  want  you  to  go 
some  other  road  than  the  one  you're  set  on  trav 
eling,  but  they'll  stick  with  you  to  the  end  and 
not  pester  you  with  a  lot  of  nagging  questions 
and  arguments.  They  aren't  forever  remind 
ing  you  that  they  expect  you  some  time  to 
square  accounts  with  them  on  a  Santa  Claus 
basis;  and  they  don't  rattle  off  from  you  like 
chestnuts  after  a  hard  frost,  when  the  first  wind 
of  political  adversity  strikes  you. 

I've  sat  up  a  good  many  nights  and  burned 
a  heap  of  strong  tobacco  trying  to  figure  out 
just  where  a  Stayer  leaves  off  and  a  Quitter  be 
gins,  and  I've  about  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  line  of  separation  shifts  itself  about 

186 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

as  often  as  the  bed  of  the  Missouri  river.  How 
ever,  I've  sized  it  up  about  this  way:  When 
your  political  bedfellow  personally  and  at  first 
hand  proves  to  you  that  he's  more  kinds  of  a 
hog,  liar,  and  general  all-around  traitor  than 
his  worst  enemies  set  him  out  to  be,  you're 
warranted  in  cutting  him  out  of  the  bunch  on 
giving  due  notice  of  your  intentions — and  the 
boys  can't  rightly  call  you  a  quitter  for  do 
ing  it. 

This  question  of  the  ethics  of  quitting  and 
staying  was  never  better  illustrated  to  my 
mind  than  in  a  township  election  when  I  was 
a  boy  back  in  York  state.  Up  in  the  region 
called  the  "hill  country  beyond  Judea  "  Lu- 
man  Dodd,  a  young  buck  who  had  more  rela 
tives  in  the  valley  of  Gahunda  than  a  rabbit, 
was  the  leader  of  the  choir  in  the  little  Disciple 
church,  and  figured  that,  being  the  best  singer 
and  the  handsomest  and  most  numerously  con 
nected  young  man  in  the  whole  hill  country, 
he  stood  a  good  chance,  in  time,  to  go  to  tlv* 
legislature  if  he  could  only  get  the  right  sort 


TATTLINGS  OF 


of  a  start.  But  the  start  was  what  bothered 
him,  for  it  had  to  be  a  regular  run-and-jump 
in  order  to  land  him  in  Albany  among  the  law 
makers. 

Over  in  the  valley  of  Gahunda,  in  the  same 
township,  was  Watt  Ely,  a  solid  old  Yankee 
who  had  run  the  Republican  politics  of  the 
settlement  for  several  years.  Young  Lume 
had  had  sense  to  make  up  strong  to  Watt  and 
"ride  the  town"  whenever  there  was  a  close 
fight  on,  and  his  tenor  voice  was  a  star  attrac 
tion  at  every  Republican  rally.  Old  Watt  took 
a  shine  to  the  boy  and  nursed  Lume's  political 
ambitions,  telling  him  his  day  would  come 
sometime.  And  it  did  come  at  a  certain  town 
caucus,  when  Watt  got  the  old  boys  together 
and  put  Lume  on  the  head  of  the  ticket  for 
supervisor.  There  was  a  streak  of  tenor  mel 
ody  from  the  townhouse  to  Lume's  home  as 
the  young  candidate  left  the  caucus  to  carry 
the  news  to  his  wife. 

But  after  the  first  burst  of  song  the  leader 
of  the  choir  got  busy  meditating  on  how  he 

1 88 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

was  to  make  the  big  start  that  would  give  him 
the  impetus  for  a  leap  into  the  legislature. 
Nothing  commonplace,  like  a  good  record, 
would  answer  the  purpose,  to  his  notion.  He 
must  do  something  to  startle  the  natives  and 
show  them  that  they  needed  a  tenor  voice  in 
the  councils  of  the  state  at  Albany. 

He  went  out  into  the  woodshed  until  the  plan 
of  campaign  gradually  took  shape — for 
Lume's  mind  was  about  as  nimble  as  a  cove 
oyster's.  But  when  he  had  once  bedded  him 
self  down  in  a  new  set  of  ideas  he  was  there 
to  stay.  At  the  end  of  a  three  hours'  com 
munion  with  himself,  Lume  saw  the  way 
from  the  townhouse  to  the  capital;  he  would 
roll  up  a  majority  for  himself  that  would  make 
the  other  figures  on  his  ticket  look  sick  and 
prove  that  he  was  the  most  popular  man  that 
had  ever  showed  his  head  above  the  waters 
of  politics  in  the  "  country  beyond  Judea." 

And  the  way  he  planned  to  accomplish  this 
feat  proved  to  himself  that  he  was  cut  out  from 
the  beginning  of  creation  for  a  statesman.  O, 

189 


TATTLINGS  OF 


but  it  was  a  cunning  trick !  He  was  sure  that 
nobody  else  had  thought  of  such  a  smart  turn. 
Moses  Siler,  who  was  named  for  justice  of  the 
peace,  had  taken  a  collection  at  the  close  of 
the  caucus  from  all  the  candidates  and  had 
gone  over  to  Slippery  Elm  to  get  the  Repub 
lican  tickets  printed,  so  they  could  be  distrib 
uted  among  the  voters  during  Sunday  and 
Monday.  But  Lume  had  decided  to  do  a  little 
ticket  business  on  his  own  hook,  so  he  sent 
his  younger  brother  over  to  the  Burg,  the  other 
side  of  the  hills,  and  had  a  batch  of  Democratic 
tickets  printed  on  the  same  kind  of  paper  as 
the  Republican  ballots,  only  the  name  of  Lu- 
man  Dodd  was  substituted  in  the  place  of  the 
Democratic  candidate's  name.  These  he'd  use 
where  they'd  do  the  most  good. 

On  Sunday  Lume  was  in  his  place  at  the 
head  of  the  choir,  behind  the  organ,  and  he 
celebrated  the  occasion  by  singing  a  solo  that 
made  some  of  the  sisters  wipe  their  eyes.  You 
couldn't  have  thrown  a  contribution  box  in  any 
direction  in  that  audience  without  hitting  an 

190 


At  the  head  of  the  choir ,  Lume 
sang  a  solo  that  made  the  sisters  wipe 
their  eyes. 


•UP* 


A  second  after  Moses  put  his 
foot  on  the  wheel  hub  he  took  out  one 
<)f  the  special  tickets. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

aunt,  uncle,  or  cousin  of  Luman  Dodd's — and 
they  were  all  proud  of  the  new  distinction  that 
had  come  to  the  family  in  the  shape  of  Lume's 
nomination.  Out  in  the  horsesheds,  after  the 
services,  Lume  held  a  reunion  of  the  male  mem 
bers  of  the  Dodd  line,  and  it  was  agreed  that 
every  one  of  them  suspected  of  having  the 
slightest  influence  in  the  community  should 
get  out  and  "  ride  "  from  Monday's  sunup  un 
til  the  close  of  the  polls  on  Tuesday.  Lume 
told  them,  of  course,  he'd  be  elected — no  ques 
tion  about  that — but  he  wanted  to  roll  up  the 
biggest  majority  ever  carried  by  a  candidate 
in  Bethlehem  township. 

On  Monday  he  started  out  to  ride  the  town 
ship  himself.  All  was  smooth  sailing  until  he 
struck  the  valley  of  Gahunda  and  drove  in  at 
Mose  Siler's  bars  to  discuss  the  outlook  and 
plan  for  some  special  hustling  on  Tuesday.  In 
about  a  second  after  Mose  planted  his  foot 
on  the  hub  of  the  buggy  he  took  from  his  wal 
let  one  of  the  special  Democratic  tickets  that 
Lume  had  hired  a  tin  peddler  to  distribute 

193 


TATTLINGS  OF 


among  the  wives  of  the  hill  country  Democrats 
along  with  some  bright  new  dippers  and  nut 
meg  graters. 

"  Lume,"  asked  Mose,  "  do  you  know  any 
thing  about  this?  Ever  see  one  of  these  be 
fore  or  have  anything  to  do  with  the  printing 
or  peddling  of  these  ballots?  " 

Not  being  a  quick  thinker  and,  knowing  that 
he'd  got  to  speak  up  right  quick  or  stand  con 
victed  of  party  treachery  in  the  eyes  of  the 
candidate  for  justice  of  the  peace,  Lume  swal 
lowed  hard  and  then  answered : 

"Never;  some  one  is  trying  to  throw  dirt 
into  my  grist.  Do  you  think,  Mose  Siler,  that 
a  young  man  who  has  sung  tenor  in  the  choir 
of  the  Disciple  church  as  long  as  I  have  and 
has  got  the  chances  that  are  in  front  of  me 
would  do  this  kind  of  a  thing?  " 

"  I've  got  my  i-dees  on  that  subject,"  said 
Siler,  "  but  all  I'm  going  to  say  right  now  is 
that  some  one's  done  it  and  that  that  feller's 
a  scurvy  hound,  and  unless  I  find  some  one 
who  won't  deny  it  I'm  going  to  lay  it  to  your 

194 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

door — and  my  friends  in  Gahunda  valley  will 
strip  your  hide  off  tomorrow  at  the  polls." 

That  was  all, — and  Lume  continued  his  ride, 
the  most  disconsolate  man  in  the  whole  hill 
country  beyond  Judea.  But,  as  Siler's  threat 
kept  filtering  through  his  mind,  he  caught  at 
one  phrase  in  it  that  gave  him  a  ray  of  hope: 
"  Unless  I  find  some  one  who  won't  deny  it." 
It  was  an  hour  before  his  mental  mill  had 
ground  this  grist  and  brought  him  to  a  de 
cision.  Ke  turned  his  horse  around  and  started 
for  Watt  Ely's,  clear  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
long  valley.  By  the  time  he  was  pounding 
on  Watt's  door  with  one  hand  and  keeping  off 
the  watchdogs  with  a  whip  in  his  other  hand, 
it  was  4  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Old  Watt 
wasn't  dressed  for  company,  but  Lume  pushed 
inside  without  waiting  for  an  invitation.  Then 
he  unburdened  his  soul  in  double  quick  time 
and  made  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  business. 
Before  Watt  could  open  up  Lume  began  to 
whine  for  quarter. 

"  I've  stood  by  you  and  rode  this  town  night 
and  day  for  you,  Mr.  Ely,"  he  said,  "  and  a 

195 


TATTLINGS  OF 


good  many  times  I've  run  the  risk  of  ruining 
my  voice  in  order  to  furnish  your  rallies  with 
campaign  music.  You're  the  chairman  of  our 
county  committee  and  the  boys  will  stand  by 
anything  you  say.  All  Siler  wants  is  to  find 
some  one  who  won't  deny  fixing  up  that  Demo 
cratic  ticket.  You're  so  strong  in  the  county 
that  a  little  thing  like  this  won't  hurt  you  a  bit 
— but,  Lord,  a'  mighty!  it'll  ruin  me  for  all 
time." 

"  Look  here!  "  cut  in  Watt.  "  You've  done 
as  dirty  a  trick  as  ever  was  put  up  by  a  low 
down  politician.  But  you  have  rode  for  me 
when  the  fight  was  close.  Besides,  I  want  to 
show  my  gratitude  to  the  Almighty  for  not 
making  me  responsible  for  the  spoiling  of  your 
voice.  So  you  can  just  go  ahead  with  the  lie 
you've  started  out  with  and  I'll  not  deny  fixing 
the  ticket  to  Mose  or  anybody  else — not  until 
election's  over.  Does  that  satisfy  you?  " 

Lume  was  so  overjoyed  at  this  that  he  didn't 
quite  catch  the  full  force  of  the  qualifying 
clause  and  he  rode  back  home  feeling  that  there 
was  still  hope.  His  first  move  was  to  send 

196 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

word,  in  a  roundabout  way,  to  Mose  that  he 
better  take  his  question  to  Watt  Ely.  He  did, 
and  the  county  chairman's  answer  was : 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  I  don't  deny  it.  Lume 
says  it's  so,  an'  he  sings  in  the  Disciple  choir, 
an'  is  a  mighty  respectable  member  of  the  com 
munity." 

That  gave  Lume  a  new  lease  of  life.  He 
caught  at  the  straw  that  Watt  had  thrown 
out,  and  in  an  hour  was  telling  his  excited 
uncles  and  cousins  that  the  county  chairman 
had  "  done  him  dirt  " — probably  for  the  reason 
that  he  wanted  to  kill  him  off  once  for  all.  The 
whole  township  was  torn  up  by  the  fight,  and 
the  result  was  the  heaviest  vote  that  was  ever 
polled. 

Meantime,  Lume,  who  was  considerably 
green  at  lying,  began  to  hear  from  his  con 
science  and  grow  white  around  the  gills.  And 
when  the  votes  were  counted  and  the  footing 
of  the  tally  sheet  was  announced  he  had  a 
mighty  sickly  looking  smile  of  triumph  on  his 
face  for  a  man  who  had  run  ahead  of  his  ticket. 

After  the  election  clerks  had  put  up  their 
197 


TATTLINGS  OF 


papers  old  Watt  mounted  a  cracker  box  in 
the  general  store.  There  was  a  light  in  his 
eye  that  meant  business,  and  the  boys  knew  it. 

"  Before  I  begin  to  talk  I  want  any  man 
here  who  thinks  I'm  a  quitter  or  who  has  ever 
known  me  to  break  my  word  in  any  political 
deal  to  speak  right  out  in  meeting." 

Not  a  man  spoke,  and  he  took  a  swig  from 
the  cider  pitcher  before  going  ahead.  While 
he  was  clearing  his  throat  Lume  slipped  out 
of  the  crowd,  saying  he'd  forgot  to  shut  the 
henhouse  door.  But  the  thing  he'd  forgotten 
was  the  qualifying  clause  in  old  Watt's  prom 
ise. 

"  I  jest  want  to  remark,"  continued  Watt, 
"  that  having  a  whole  nation  of  good,  honest 
kinfolks  sometimes  won't  save  a  man  from 
doing  things  that  would  shame  a  polecat,  and 
that  a  tenor  voice  hain't  any  particular  guar 
anty  of  truthful  lips." 

Then  he  laid  open  the  entire  circumstances 
regarding  the  loaded  Democratic  ticket.  That 
night  the  news  traveled  the  length  and  breadth 

198 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

of  Gahunda  valley  and  all  over  the  hill  coun 
try  beyond  Judea. 

The  next  afternoon  every  relative  of  Lume's 
in  the  whole  region  was  attending  another  fam 
ily  reunion  at  the  horsesheds.  Lume  bawled 
and  begged,  but  the  Dodds  were  made  of  hardy 
stock  and  didn't  propose  to  have  their  good 
name  dragged  in  the  mire  of  Gahunda  without 
letting  the  natives  know  that  he  wasn't  up 
held  by  his  kinfolks.  When  they  got  through 
with  him  he  had  been  officially  thrown  out  of 
the  church,  the  choir  and  the  Sunday  school. 
They  took  his  resignation  from  the  board  of 
supervisors  and  packed  him  off  to  Ohio,  bag 
and  baggage. 

The  last  I  heard  of  him  he  was  doing  a  turn 
in  a  minstrel  show  that  was  making  one  night 
stands  through  Missouri  and  Arkansas — which 
is  some  different  from  throwing  a  tenor  voice 
at  the  speaker  of  the  House  in  Albany, 

Whenever  any  one  mentions  the  subject  of 
Quitters  and  Stayers  somehow  I  can't  help 
thinking  that  old  Watt  Ely  got  about  as  near 
the  right  dividing  line  as  most  of  us  can. 

199 


TATTLINGS  OF 


There's  such  a  thing  as  being  an  over-stayer — 
and  it's  almost  as  bad  a  breed  as  the  easy  quit 
ter.  But  one  thing  is  sure,  the  politician  who 
don't  make  his  bare  word  better  than  a  first 
mortgage  on  an  Illinois  farm  don't  know  the 
first  principles  of  good  politics. 

He  can  smash  the  moral  law  into  kindling 
wood  in  a  lot  of  particulars,  but  if  he  keeps  this 
one  commandment  sound  he  will  have  more 
followers  than  a  wagonload  of  fodder  in  a 
pasture  of  hungry  steers.  And  the  funny  part 
of  it  is  that  a  good  share  of  the  modern  white 
ribbon  "  practical  reformers  "  who  have  kept 
the  whole  moral  code  from  their  youth  up  seem 
to  forget  this  one  tenet  the  minute  they  break 
into  politics,  while  the  boss  who  would  shake 
down  a  railroad  without  winking  makes  this 
the  one  plank  in  his  confession  of  faith. 

Now,  Ned,  if  you  don't  want  me  to  run  on  at 
such  a  rate  you  mustn't  write  me  the  things 
that  stir  up  all  my  old  political  dander.  Just 
keep  pruning  off  the  Quitters  and  grafting  on 
the  Stayers  and  you'll  yet  land  the  big  job 
you're  after. 

200 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

The  cattle  are  doing  fine  and  the  ranch  is 
the  best  place  I've  struck  yet  for  solid  com 
fort.  It  beats  the  executive  mansion  and  a 
seat  in  the  Senate  all  hollow — for  I've  tried  'em 
both.  Give  my  regards  to  your  wife. 
Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


201 


ELEVENTH  HOUR 
SURPRISES. 

Touching  Ned's  announcement 
that  he  has  the  congressional  nom 
ination  "spiked  to  the  rails,"  the 
old  Governor  replies  with  the  story 
of  how  Little  Danny  once  loosened 
a  political  cinch  and  sprung  a  sur 
prise,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  that 
made  his  political  future. 


CHAPTER  X. 
ELEVENTH   HOUR  SURPRISES. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

My  father  used  to  say  that  he  never  knew 
of  a  horse  being  stolen  excepting  from  a  barn 
that  had  been  locked  by  a  boy — and  generally 
by  a  boy  who  had  that  very  night  been  back, 
after  starting  for  the  house,  to  wiggle  the  pad 
lock  and  "  make  sure." 

Most  of  the  good,  sound  political  drubbings 
that  I've  seen  administered  have  been  in  the 
nature  of  eleventh  hour  surprises.  In  one  re 
spect,  at  least,  the  arrival  of  the  new  political 
victor  and  the  last  coming  of  the  Lord  are 
strikingly  similar;  both  are  illuminatingly  de 
scribed  in  the  words  of  scripture  reading,  "  like 
a  thief  in  the  night "  and  "  in  an  hour  when 
ye  think  not/' 

This  is  by  way  of  reply  to  your  statement 
that  there  isn't  a  gap,  a  weak  rail,  a  rotten 
stake,  or  a  split  rider  in  all  your  political  fences ; 

205 


TATTLINGS  OF 


that  you've  got  everything  inclosed  seven  rails 
high  and  are  only  waiting  for  the  congressional 
convention  to  drive  the  delegates  right  into 
the  "  stanchels  "  and  have  them  counted. 

Now,  Ned,  if  all  political  cattle  were  exactly 
alike  you  might  safely  go  and  visit  your  wife's 
relatives  until  the  morning  of  the  convention ; 
but  if  the  old  district  is  anything  like  it  used  to 
be  when  I  rode  it  in  an  open  buggy  and  kept  a 
list  of  the  farm  dogs'  names  it  is  a  safe  plan 
to  go  out  every  hour  or  two  and  wiggle  the 
padlock  on  the  barn  door  and  put  in  the  rest 
of  the  time  patrolling  the  line  fences.  After 
you've  turned  yourself  three  times  around  and 
bedded  yourself  nicely  down  into  a  political 
situation,  like  a  young  hound  in  a  haystack, 
make  up  your  mind  that  it's  time  to  hit  the 
trail  again  and  to  hang  to  it  until  the  pelt  of 
the  fox  is  nailed  to  the  barn  door. 

And  it's  surprising  how  trifling  a  thing  it 
takes  to  confound  the  mighty  and  turn  a  po 
litical  certainty  into  a  reminiscence.  Perhaps 
you  didn't  know  the  Hon.  Xavier  Flynn — they 
called  him  "  Salve  "  for  short — up  in  the  city; 

206 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

but  there's  a  powerful  parable  in  the  story  of 
his  fall.  It  came  like  a  sharp  frost  out  of  a 
cloudy  sky  and  struck  so  deep  down  to  the 
roots  that  it  hasn't  got  thawed  out  yet.  Salve 
had  run  things  in  the  old  Fifth  Ward  so  long 
and  with  so  high  a  hand  that  he  didn't  dream 
anything  on  earth  could  unseat  him.  Not  that 
he  got  careless  and  didn't  keep  his  promises — 
he  was  too  good  a  politician  for  anything  of 
that  sort — but  he  acquired  the  habit  of  put 
ting  up  business  blocks  on  the  west  side  and 
always  lacked  a  little  of  paying  for  one. 

This  was  mighty  stimulating  to  his  sense  of 
thrift,  but  somehow  it  kept  him  constantly 
paring  down  his  campaign  fund  until  some 
of  the  young  bucks  in  his  camp,  who  did  the 
heft  of  the  hard  work,  got  tired  of  this  passion 
for  economy  that  had  gradually  taken  posses 
sion  of  Salve.  Tan  Finnegan  was  especially 
sore,  as  the  alderman  had  turned  down  some 
of  his  pet  schemes  in  the  council  and  had  re 
fused  to  refund  a  thousand  dollars  that  Tan 
had  scattered  along  the  levee  in  the  course  of 
the  preceding  campaign. 

207 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Right  then  and  there  Tan  notified  Salve  to 
count  him  out  and  consider  him  as  unattached ; 
he  might,  he  said,  do  a  little  work  and  he  might 
conclude  to  go  over  to  the  enemy.  "  Anyhow, 
you'll  hear  from  me  one  way  or  the  other." 
Well,  after  the  new  campaign  opened  Tan 
kept  mighty  still  and  appeared  to  be  as  com 
pletely  absorbed  in  holding  his  seat  on  the 
fence  as  a  boy  who  is  waiting  for  the  circus 
parade  to  pass.  All  his  interest  in  politics  ap 
peared  suddenly  to  have  oozed  out  of  his  toes 
and  he  was  given  the  credit  of  being  as  disin 
terested  a  spectator  of  the  political  field  as  the 
most  aristocratic  millionaire-by-inheritance  on 
Brownstone  avenue. 

This  didn't  rack  Salve  with  grief  to  any 
great  extent.  Since  his  mania  for  business 
blocks  and  economy  had  grown  on  him  the 
old  alderman  had  come  to  regard  Tan  as  a 
prodigiously  expensive  luxury.  To  be  sure, 
Tan  always  got  results ;  but  if  rentals  on  busi 
ness  property  were  as  high  as  the  expense  of 
Tan's  results,  Salve  figured  he  wouldn't  need 
to  stay  in  the  council  to  keep  his  property  up 

208 


Tan  treated  to  one  round  of  beers 
and  solemnly  handed  each  loafer  a 
dime. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

in  good  shape.  So  long  as  Tan  didn't  line  up 
actively  with  the  opposition  the  alderman  was 
glad  that  the  young  ward  hustler  was  not  dis 
tributing  his  money. 

Just  the  day  before  the  election,  after  old 
Salve  had  looked  over  all  his  fences  and  pro 
nounced  his  work  good,  Tan  took  $50  to  the 
bank  and  had  it  changed  into  dimes.  Then 
he  started  out  and  began  to  hit  up  the  old  trail, 
making  the  rounds  of  all  the  river  saloons. 
In  every  one  he  came  across  a  few  loafers  with 
whom  he  was  personally  acquainted.  These 
he  called  up  to  the  bar  and  treated  them  to 
one  round  of  beers,  while  the  newcomers  and 
strangers  glowered  and  swore  in  thirsty  rage. 

"  Drink  hearty,"  he  would  say,  "  to  honest 
old  Xavier  Flynn." 

But  Tan's  finishing  touch,  which  marked 
him  as  a  master  in  the  creation  of  political 
discontent,  was  in  solemnly  handing  a  dime  to 
every  one  of  these  loafer  captains,  as  they 
were  wiping  their  lips  after  the  one  drink,  and 
saying : 

"  Now,  boys,  get  out  early  and  put  in  your 

211 


TATTLINGS  OF 


best  licks  for  Flynn.  He's  got  to  be  returned. 
The  opposition  is  throwing  out  lots  of  coin 
to  put  him  out  of  business;  but  he  knows  he 
can  depend  on  you,  coin  or  no  coin !  " 

This  sort  of  thing  was  repeated  in  practically 
every  saloon  in  the  river  ward — and  a  trail  of 
curses  on  the  niggardliness  of  old  Flynn  fol 
lowed  from  one  groggery  to  another — for,  of 
course,  the  loafers  all  thought  Tan  was  still 
the  accredited  distributer  for  Flynn.  But 
curses  were  not  the  only  followers  that  Tan 
had.  He  had  secretly  arranged  with  the  heel 
ers  of  the  opposition  to  make  the  rounds  right 
after  him  and  spend  a  dollar  for  every  dime 
that  had  been  put  out  in  the  name  of  old  Salve. 
You  can  bet  there  wasn't  a  dry  throat  in  any 
place  where  these  heelers  stopped,  and  instead 
of  dealing  out  dimes  to  the  loafer  captains  they 
handed  over  $5  bills. 

Meantime  Aid.  Flynn  was  comfortably  cast 
ing  up  his  greatly  reduced  election  expenses 
and  was  glad  that  Tan  was  not  sowing  his 
money  in  the  barrel  houses.  He  had  weath 
ered  so  many  storms  and  turned  so  many  sharp 

212 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

corners  that  it  didn't  occur  to  him  it  was  pos 
sible  to  unseat  him.  Such  was  his  confidence 
in  his  position  that,  after  he  had  been  told 
that  Tan  had  been  out  doing  a  little  work  for 
him,  he  didn't  suspect  that  some  sharp  practice 
was  going  on. 

Well,  when  the  votes  were  counted,  in  that 
election,  Salve  was  buried  so  deep  that  they 
had  difficulty  in  finding  his  figures  on  the  poll 
sheet.  And  it  took  the  old  alderman  about  a 
month  to  find  out  the  real  nature  of  the  brick 
bat  that  had  hit  him. 

But  when  it  comes  to  turning  sharp  corners 
at  the  eleventh  hour  the  trick  that  gave  Little 
Danny  his  start  in  politics  puts  all  the  others 
in  the  shade.  Little  Danny  wanted  to  break 
into  the  council,  but  he  lived  in  a  strong 
Irish  Democratic  ward,  where  Republicans 
were  scarce  as  hens'  teeth,  and  the  old  alder 
man  was  up  for  re-election.  He  had  the  whole 
rolling  mill  influence  at  his  back,  and  he  made 
no  bones  of  saying  that  so  long  as  he  had  the 
mill  foreman  and  bosses  solid  he  could  "  yell 
for  Queen  Victoria,"  and  still  be  elected. 

213 


TATTLINGS  OF 


This  incidental  remark  reached  the  ears  of 
Little  Danny  and  he  made  it  the  subject  of 
meditation  and  prayer.  The  more  he  thought 
about  the  boast  the  madder  he  was — but  he 
had  to  admit  that  it  was  gospel  truth  so  far 
as  any  election  records  to  date  could  show. 
The  night  before  election  Little  Danny  had  as 
much  chance  to  come  out  with  a  whole  skin 
as  a  sour  apple  in  a  hog  pen.  As  he  was  walk 
ing  the  floor,  jouncing  a  croupy  baby,  he  sud 
denly  saw  a  great  light.  Some  say  that  it 
came  so  quick  he  dropped  the  baby  into  the 
coal  hod,  but  I  don't  believe  that,  for  Little 
Danny  was  never  known  to  lose  his  head — 
and,  besides,  he  was  as  tender  as  a  woman 
when  it  came  to  handling  a  child. 

But,  at  any  rate,  Little  Danny  turned  the 
baby  over  to  his  wife  and  made  a  dash  down 
town.  Between  2  and  4  in  the  morning,  when 
all  the  world,  including  policemen  on  their 
beats,  sleeps  soundest,  Little  Danny  made  a 
sneak  to  the  cottage  of  Big  Tom,  his  oppo 
nent.  When  he  left,  a  life  size  bust  picture  of 
her  majesty  Queen  Victoria  occupied  the  lower 

214 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

sash  of  the  alderman's  front  parlor  window, 
a  window  in  which  the  shade  was  never  raised 
excepting  on  rare  company  occasions. 

Now,  this  same  window  fronted  on  the 
street  along  which  every  hand  going  to  and 
from  the  rolling  mill  must  pass.  Another  per 
tinent  fact  which  had  entered  into  Little  Dan 
ny's  calculations  was  that  just  then  the  Irish 
troubles  were  fierce  in  Parliament  and  the  old 
sod  of  the  Green  Isle  was  the  scene  of  evictions 
and  riots  that  would  make  the  modern  Amer 
ican  strike  look  like  a  game  of  pingpong.  A 
big  collection  for  "  the  cause  "  had  just  been 
taken  in  the  rolling  mill  district,  and  an  orator, 
fresh  from  Parliament,  had  held  a  dozen 
"  Emmet "  meetings  in  the  ward,  with  the  re 
sult  that,  in  the  language  of  a  mill  foreman, 
the  feeling  was  "  right  up  to  heat  and  ready  to 
pour." 

Little  Danny's  inspiration  had  taken  note  of 
all  these  incidentals,  and  he  calculated  that  the 
chromo  of  her  majesty  was  about  as  well  cal 
culated  to  do  the  pouring  act  as  anything  that 
could  be  put  up  in  that  neighborhood.  With 

215 


TATTLINGS  OF 


his  unfailing  cunning  he  had  also  taken  into 
account  the  fact  that  the  men  leaving  from  the 
night  shift  would  vote  on  their  way  home,  but 
that  those  on  the  day  shift  would  be  given  a 
special  "  knockoff ,"  during  the  day,  in  which  to 
deposit  their  ballots.  In  other  words,  every 
rolling  mill  hand  would  see  that  picture  of 
Victoria  Regina  before  going  to  the  polls. 
Then,  too,  he  had  put  up  the  picture  so  cleverly 
that  it  looked  as  if  hung  from  the  inside. 

When  the  shifts  changed  and  the  dinner  pail 
brigade  passed  the  alderman's  house  a  mighty 
rumbling  began,  and  it  grew  louder  and  louder 
as  the  sun  rose  higher.  Before  one  of  the 
alderman's  children  discovered  the  portrait, 
every  loyal  Irishman  on  the  mill's  pay  roll  had 
seen  the  picture  and  a  good  share  of  them  had 
vented  their  wrath  at  the  polls  by  a  vote  for 
Little  Danny,  the  "  opposition  "  candidate. 

Of  course,  the  old  alderman  sent  his  hustlers 
to  every  precinct  and  scattered  money  and  ex 
planations  right  and  left — or  at  least  at 
tempted  to  do  so.  But,  with  all  the  help  the 
big  men  at  the  mill  could  give  him,  he  couldn't 

216 


Every   loyal  Irishman  saw  the 
picture  of  her  Majesty,  Victoria. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

explain  fast  enough  to  check  the  landslide  of 
votes  that  sent  Little  Danny  to  the  council 
with  a  bigger  majority  than  his  defeated  oppo 
nent  had  ever  been  able  to  muster. 

Some  experiences  and  observations  of  this 
kind,  Ned,  make  me  a  little  sensitive  on  the 
subject  of  sure  things.  When  I  get  to  feeling 
that  there's  nothing  left  to  do  but  count  the 
votes  and  send  up  the  skyrockets  of  victory  I 
take  an  extra  hitch  in  my  belt  and  go  out  to 
see  that  some  frisky  steer  doesn't  get  scared  at 
a  rabbit  and  stampede  the  whole  bunch  at  the 
last  minute  before  the  count. 

As  I  said  in  a  former  letter,  if  youVe  got  any 
sleeping  to  do,  better  stand  yourself  off  with  a 
few  catnaps  until  the  polls  close  and  take  your 
beauty  slumber  after  the  close  of  the  celebra 
tion.  I  hope  you'll  win,  for  I  think  you  de 
serve  it,  and,  besides,  a  term  or  two  in  congress 
will  be  good  for  you,  and  your  wife  will  enjoy 
it — if  she  spends  most  of  the  time  visiting 
among  your  constituents  instead  of  going  to 
Washington  and  finding  out  how  small  a  fig- 

219 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ure  a  green  congressman  cuts  among  the  real 
lawmakers. 

When  you  get  down  there,  Ned,  remember 
that  I'm  open  to  all  the  garden  seeds  that  you 
can  send  and  that  I'm  a  redhot  advocate  of  all 
the  irrigation  legislation  that  you  can  frame 
up  for  this  part  of  the  country. 
Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


220 


PAYING  THE   FIDDLER. 

Being  William  Bradley's  notions 
on  the  "  law  of  compensation "  in 
practical  politics — and  also  the  ac 
count  of  how  old  Judge  Worthy 
Millring  rendered  a  decision,  ruled 
the  political  destinies  of  his  district, 
indulged  in  romance  and  finally 
"  settled  his  score  with  the  fiddler." 


CHAPTER  XI. 
PAYING  THE  FIDDLER, 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

There's  nothing  like  the  whirligig  of  time  to 
take  the  kinks  out  of  a  crooked  politician. 
Somehow  I  can't  quite  get  over  the  notion  that, 
sooner  or  later,  we  have  to  pay  the  fiddler  in 
politics  as  well  as  in  other  things. 

However,  there's  a  lot  of  powerful  cunning 
men  who've  made  a  big  killing  in  politics  and 
scored  their  heaviest  hits  by  doing  dirt  to  every 
man  that  came  near  enough  to  get  tarred  with 
their  stick. .  These  fellows  don't  believe  in  the 
fiddler  doctrine.  They  seen  to  hold  that  so 
long  as  they  keep  their  batting  average  up  to  a 
certain  pitch  they're  entitled  to  a  clean  bill  of 
exemption. 

But,  Ned,  I  can't  see  it  that  way.  You've 
played  I-spy  enough  in  the  village  horse  sheds 
to  understand  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that 
the  man  who  makes  his  way  in  the  game  of 

223 


TATTLINGS  OF 


politics  by  lying,  cheating,  and  throwing  down 
his  friends  isn't  justified  in  expecting  to  hear 
the  final  call  of  "  all  in  free."  Sooner  or  later 
he'll  have  to  take  his  turn  at  being  "  it  "  while 
the  others  are  getting  even  with  him. 

These  political  scamps  who  climb  to  high 
places  on  the  shoulders  of  the  men  they've  be 
trayed  and  then  expect  to  escape  scot  free,  re 
mind  me  of  old  Benage  Tew's  defense  of  the 
will  left  by  the  infidel,  Keth,  back  in  Busti.  The 
way  in  which  the  old  man  distributed  his  prop 
erty — which  was  the  largest  in  the  township — 
didn't  appeal  to  the  natural  heirs,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that,  during  his  lifetime,  they  had  con 
sistently  impressed  the  old  codger  with  the 
fact  that  they  regarded  him  as  a  moral  mon 
strosity  whose  fiery  calling  and  election  were 
already  sealed. 

Consequently,  the  bereaved  heirs  went  up  to 
the  county  seat  and  took  counsel  of  a  young 
sprig  of  a  lawyer,  who  had  a  reputation  for 
being  uncommonly  foxy.  And  they  came  out 
of  the  conference  smiling,  for  he  told  them 
that  it  would  be  dead  easy  to  break  the  will  on 

224 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

the  ground  that  the  old  man  was  of  unsound 
mind  when  he  made  it. 

"  But  how  will  you  prove  that?  "  one  of  the 
heirs  had  asked. 

"  I  guess  there  isn't  a  court  or  a  jury  in  this 
region,"  the  lawyer  had  replied,  "  that  won't 
accept  the  old  man's  infidelity  as  a  proof  of  his 
mental  unsoundness.  All  we've  got  to  do  is  to 
establish  that  fact.  The  religious  sentiment 
of  the  community  will  do  the  rest." 

But  one  old  friend  of  the  deceased,  who  was 
a  large  beneficiary  under  the  terms  of  the  will, 
hired  old  Benage  Tew  to  look  over  his  inter 
ests  in  the  case.  Now,  old  Benage  was  as 
rough  as  a  shag  bark  hickory  but  as  sharp  as  a 
cooper's  adz.  While  he  knew  about  all  the 
law  that  had  ever  been  introduced  into  Cow 
bell  county,  he  paid  a  heap  more  attention  to 
the  jury  that  he  did  to  the  law.  He  didn't  in 
troduce  a  particle  of  evidence  to  rebut  or  soften 
that  establishing  the  rank  infidelity  of  the  de 
ceased,  and  his  client  finally  took  fright  and 
ventured  to  remind  him  of  this  oversight.  But 
Benage  was  a  hard-bitted  and  crusty  old  sin- 

225 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ner  and  simply  told  his  client  to  "  shut  up.  " 

Right  up  to  the  last  words  of  old  Tew's 
speech  to  the  jury  he  ignored  the  main  issue. 
Then  he  disposed  of  it  in  these  words : 

"  Gentlemen,  it  has  been  alleged  that  the  tes 
tator  was  an  infidel.  I  admit  it.  I  don't  hold 
to  his  views  of  the  Deity  and  the  future,  and 
neither  do  you.  But  as  I  look  into  your  honest 
and  intelligent  faces,  I  am  willing  to  leave  with 
you  the  question :  Shall  the  maker  of  this  last 
will  and  testament  be  adjudged  crazy  simply 
because  he  did  not  hold,  with  the  persons  who 
are  seeking  such  a  verdict,  that  through  his 
lifetime  a  man  may  consistently  break  the  ten 
commandments,  smash  the  moral  law  into 
flinders,  and  on  his  deathbed  assign  to  the 
Savior  and  cheat  the  devil  out  of  his  honest 
dues?  " 

It  took  the  jury  just  ten  minutes  to  bring  in 
a  verdict  upholding  the  soundness  of  the  will. 
And,  Ned,  I  can't  escape  the  conclusion  that 
there's  a  law  in  the  eternal  fitness  of  things 
that  brings  the  scalawag  in  politics  around  to 
face  the  music  and  settle  with  the  fiddler  for 

226 


Right  up  to  the  last  word  of 
Old  Benage  Tew's  speech  to  the  jury 
he  ignored  the  main  issue. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

the  tunes  to  which  he  has  danced,  just  as  you 
say  the  Hon.  Bill  has  had  to  settle  in  your  baili 
wick. 

Whenever  I  hear  anything  said  about  the  law 
of  compensation  in  politics  my  mind  goes  back 
to  the  career  of  Judge  Worthy  Millring,  back 
in  Coon  county.  That's  while  you  were  at  col 
lege,  and  so  I'll  refresh  your  hearsay  recol 
lection  of  the  affair.  A  finer  looker  than  the  old 
Judge  never  wore  ermine  or  handed  down  an 
opinion.  He  was  as  tall  and  toppy  as  an  elm 
by  a  meadow  brook  and  judicial  dignity  hung 
about  him  like  the  halo  of  a  saint  in  the  family 
Bible.  When  he  rubbed  his  spectacles  with  his 
silk  handkerchief,  after  a  closing  argument, 
you  felt  that  the  voice  of  Justice  was  about  to 
utter  the  last  word  on  the  subject. 

But,  just  the  same,  every  man  who  was 
mixed  up  in  politics  in  his  circuit  knew,  in  his 
heart,  that  the  old  Judge  had  thrown  down  his 
best  friends,  sacrificed  the  men  who  had  made 
him  a  political  power,  and  smilingly  lifted  the 
scalps  of  the  veterans  who  had  been  singed 
in  fighting  fire  for  him. 

229 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Just  previous  to  each  judicial  election  there 
was  a  murmur  of  revolt;  but  the  old  Judge 
smiled  on  the  younger  men  of  the  party — the 
ones  who  really  did  the  work — played  the  gal 
lant  at  a  few  church  sociables  throughout  his 
circuit,  and  carried  the  convention  as  easily  as 
he  decided  a  case.  This  went  on  until  his  long 
hair  was  white  as  his  old  fashioned  "  choker," 
and  all  thoughts  of  unseating  him  had  prac 
tically  been  abandoned  by  the  men  who  had 
felt  his  stiletto  under  their  political  ribs. 

One  day,  however,  a  red-headed  lawyer  came 
to  court  to  defend  a  young  woman  against  a 
suit  brought  by  her  husband  for  the  custody  of 
their  little  boy.  The  man  looked  as  if  he'd 
steal  the  pennies  out  of  the  child's  bank  and 
beat  the  mother  for  protesting  against  it.  You 
could  set  a  dozen  such  heads  as  his  on  the  bot 
tom  of  an  old  fashioned  sap  bucket  and  still 
have  room  enough  to  play  checkers. 

There's  no  denying  that  the  woman  was  un 
commonly  comely;  but  the  courts  in  our  state 
hadn't  held  that  this  was  proof  of  bad  char 
acter.  However,  the  husband  had  enough  of 

23® 


Then  the  woman  slowly  arose, 
took  the  boy  by  the  hand  and  walked 
down  the  aisle. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

his  relatives  on  the  stand  to  make  out  a  circum 
stantial  case  against  her,  while  his  lawyer  made 
a  strong  point  of  her  handsome  face  and  her  al 
leged  weakness  to  flattery,  insinuating  that  her 
ability  to  sham  would  make  her  a  success  on 
the  stage.  His  whole  contention  was  that  the 
mother  was  an  unfit  person  to  have  the  cus 
tody  of  her  child. 

There  was  a  hush  in  the  court  when  the 
Judge  polished  his  spectacles  and  gave  his  deci 
sion,  ordering  that  the  child  be  taken  from  the 
mother  and  given  into  the  hands  of  the  grand 
mother  on  the  father's  side.  Then  the  woman 
slowly  arose,  took  the  little  boy  by  the  hand 
and  walked  down  the  aisle — a  strange,  un 
steady  light  in  her  eyes.  Reaching  the  bench 
fronting  at  one  end  the  Sheriff's  room  and 
at  the  other  the  Judge's  chamber,  she  dropped 
down  and  gazed  vacantly  about. 

The  Sheriff  offered  the  little  fellow  an  apple, 
and,  as  the  child  stepped  forward  shyly  and 
took  it,  picked  him  up  and  dodged  quickly  into 
the  private  room,  snapping  the  lock  behind  him. 
This  aroused  the  woman  from  her  stupor.  She 

233 


TATTLINGS  OF 


leaped  forward  and  fairly  flung  herself  against 
the  door. 

Just  then  the  old  Judge  stepped  to  the  door 
of  his  chamber.  With  a  cry  the  mother  made 
a  rush  for  him — but  again  threw  herself  against 
a  closed  door!  She  was  beside  herself  when 
the  bailiffs  and  her  lawyer  led  her  away.  I 
never  heard  what  became  of  her — but  I  can 
give  you  a  few  pertinent  particulars  about  that 
red-headed  lawyer  and  old  Judge  Millring. 

The  papers  commented  at  length  upon  the 
"  painful  incident,"  but  praised  the  "  clearly 
judicial  and  impartial "  nature  of  the  decision, 
and  added  that  the  county  was  "  fortunate  in 
being  able  to  furnish  the  circuit  bench  with  so 
distinguished  and  scholarly  a  jurist,  one  that 
would  be  an  ornament  to  the  highest  tribunal  in 
the  land."  That  was  the  first  gun  in  the  ju 
dicial  campaign — but  not  the  last. 

The  red-headed  lawyer  had  his  dander  up, 
but  kept  it  under  cover,  and  started  out,  quiet 
ly,  to  make  things  merry  for  the  old  Judge , 
But  that  unsuspecting  ornament  of  the  bench 
simply  continued  in  the  even  tenor  of  his  way, 

234 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

living  the  life  of  a  solitary  and  scholarly  old 
widower  in  the  big  mansion  on  the  hill,  cared 
for  by  a  half-deaf  housekeeper  whose  smile 
would  have  soured  fresh  milk. 

Secretly  the  young  lawyer  organized  into  a 
band  of  insurgents  a  choice  lot  of  the  men 
who  had  been  tricked,  shammed  and  deserted 
by  the  Judge  in  years  past.  Then  he  bought 
the  Blade,  the  new  county-seat  paper,  published 
in  the  Judge's  own  town.  When  he  had  ac 
quired  the  property  he  coyly  suggested  to  the 
Judge  that,  as  he  needed  a  little  ready  money 
just  then,  he  would  be  willing  to  sell  a  two- 
thirds  interest.  This  bait  caught  the  Judge 
instantly,  and  he  drew  his  check  for  the  re 
quired  amount,  charging  it  up  to  campaign 
expenses.  Then  he  went  into  the  city  for  a  few 
days'  rest,  a  habit  he  had  fallen  into  in  late 
years.  He  liked  to  come  in  contact  with  bright 
minds,  he  said,  and  keep  in  touch  with  the 
great  world  of  affairs;  it  kept  him  from  "  get 
ting  rusty." 

There  was  no  open  contest  against  the  Judge 
in  his  own  county;  the  new  paper  printed  a 

235 


TATTLINGS  OF 


few  columns  of  conventional  praise  of  "  our 
distinguished  and  learned  fellow-townsman," 
and  the  red-headed  lawyer  rode  the  country 
picking  out  the  delegates  to  the  Judicial  con 
vention.  He  didn't  claim  directly  to  repre 
sent  the  Judge,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that  he  had  no  objection  to  letting  any  "  sore 
head  "  in  on  the  delegation  who  cared  to  go  to 
the  convention.  This  was  winked  at  as  a  mag 
nanimous  and  clever  thing — and  an  amazing 
number  of  soreheads  took  advantage  of  his 
generosity. 

The  convention  met  on  Friday,  the  regular 
publication  day  of  the  Blade  being  Thursday. 
Somehow  the  papers  got  into  the  postoffice  un 
commonly  early  that  day  and  in  a  few  hours 
the  county  was  in  an  uproar — for  the  news 
spread  like  a  prairie  fire  after  a  drought.  In 
headlines  printed  in  black  handbill  type,  the 
editor  announced  the  fact  that  it  had  been  dis 
covered  that  the  Hon.  Worthy  Millring  was 
the  husband  of  a  young  woman  forty  years 
his  junior  and  the  father  of  a  little  daughter. 

236 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

The  wife  was  the  daughter  of  a  former  house 
keeper  of  the  judicial  mansion. 

In  proof  of  the  existence  of  the  wife,  the  pa 
per  published  the  facsimile  reproduction  of  a 
registered  letter  receipt  signed  by  Mrs.  Worthy 
Millring.  No  comments  were  made  aside  from 
the  simple  statement  that  it  was  feared  that 
the  neighbors  and  political  supporters  of  the 
venerable  jurist  would  resent  the  fact  that  they 
had  not  been  taken  more  intimately  into  the 
confidence  of  their  distinguished  fellow-towns 
man. 

That  convention  was  the  hottest  that  ever 
convened  in  the  county.  The  old  Judge  was 
full  of  fight.  He  made  a  bold  dash  to  stampede 
the  younger  delegates. 

"  Just  come  over  to  the  hotel,"  he  told  them; 
u  meet  my  wife  and  then,  if  you  blame  me,  vote 
against  me."  They  accepted  the  challenge,  met 
the  woman- — and  went  back  to  fight  for  the 
Judge.  She  was  a  city  woman  with  a  certain 
social  grace  and  cleverness  that  dazzled  the 
young  farmers,  and,  for  a  time,  it  looked  as  if 
the  Judge's  high  play  would  win  out  for  him. 

237 


TATTLINGS  OF 


But  a  good  many  of  the  delegates  had 
brought  their  wives  to  town  with  them — just 
to  do  a  little  shopping — and,  somehow,  the  red 
headed  lawyer  managed  to  meet  most  of  these 
women  and  drop  a  word  with  them.  And,  in 
cidentally,  the  convention,  the  stores,  and  the 
whole  town  generally  were  well  supplied  with 
handbills  giving  the  text  of  the  Judge's  de 
cision  in  which  he  had  taken  the  child  from 
the  mother  on  the  grounds  of  "  unwholesome 
home  influences."  More  than  one  delegate 
was  called  out  of  that  convention  by  his  wife — 
but  somehow  not  a  great  many  women  called 
on  the  Judge's  wife  that  first  day  of  her  ap 
pearance  in  local  society. 

In  the  convention  the  fight  was  something 
fierce.  The  balloting  hung  on  until  night  and 
the  insurgents  forced  an  adjournment.  That 
gave  the  wives  of  the  delegates  a  chance  to  ex 
press  their  sentiments — and  the  next  day,  on 
the  eighty-ninth  ballot,  there  was  a  break  in  the 
Judge's  forces  and  the  nomination  went  to  a 
dark  horse  candidate  who  was  as  awkward  as 
a  "  pip  "  turkey,  but  straight  and  fairly  able. 

238 


The  Judge  held  his  head  up  just 
as  high  as  ever  when  he  took  his  walks 
about  town. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

After  that  the  old  Judge  grew  thinner  and 
frailer.  He  held  his  head  just  as  high  as  ever 
when  he  took  his  dignified  walks  about  town, 
but  it  was  hard  work  for  him  to  do  it.  His  deep 
set  eyes  sunk  further  back  into  their  caverns 
behind  his  bushy  brows.  Before  the  summer 
was  over,  he  took  to  his  bed  and,  in  the  lan 
guage  of  the  red-headed  lawyer,  "  turned  up 
his  toes  and  submitted  to  the  eternal  decree  of 
justice  and  retribution." 

The  politicians  who,  like  the  old  Judge,  made 
a  practice  of  throwing  dead  cats  in  other  peo 
ple's  wells  are  divided  into  two  classes:  First 
come  those  who  do  it  from  spite,  because 
they're  not  allowed  to  draw  all  the  water  they 
want  themselves.  These  are  mean  enough,  but 
they  don't  trot  in  the  same  class  with  those 
who  do  it  just  for  pure  cussedness,  poisoning 
the  waters  from  which  their  friends  must 
drink,  simply  because  they  are  natural  political 
degenerates.  And  it's  my  experience  that  this 
latter  class  is  mainly  made  up  of  the  men  who 
prate  loudest  about  political  purity. 

It's  my  notion  that  the  politicians  of  this 
241 


TATTLINGS  OF 


stripe  generally  get  their  taste  of  poisoned 
waters  before  they're  through  with  the  game. 
And  I  always  take  a  heap  of  comfort  every 
time  I  see  one  of  them  laid  out  for  good. 

Tell  the  wife  that  if  she'll  cure  you  of  politics 
and  come  out  west  with  you  there's  a  chance 
for  you  to  make  more  money  here  and  get  more 
solid  enjoyment  than  in  holding  down  the  fat 
test  job  in  the  old  state. 

Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


242 


LANDSLIDES  AND  STORM 
CENTERS. 


Containing  the  observations  of 
Bill  Bradley  on  the  delights  and 
aangers  of  being  a  "  committeeman  " 
in  high  authority  and  bossing  the 
fight  in  a  big  campaign.  Incidental 
ly  he  relates  how  a  state  captain  of 
the  party  hosts  scared  a  whole  com 
monwealth  full  of  complacent  and 
self-satisfied  politicians,  collected  a 
campaign  fund  and  revolutionized 
results. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

LANDSLIDES  AND  STORM  CENTERS. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:  — 

Your  letter  saying  that  the  boys  have  made 
you  national  committeeman  from  the  old  state 
gave  me  a  heavy  jolt.  I  feel  a  good  deal  like  the 
old  lumberman  who  stood  on  shore  and 
watched  his  son  go  out  on  the  logs  to  break  a 
big  lumber  jam.  It  was  the  lad's  first  star  per 
formance,  and  the  old  man  remarked :  "  He's 
a  fine  boy  and  it's  a  fine  job — but  if  he  don't  hit 
it  right  this  time  he'll  never  get  back  to  where 
he  can  be  licked  for  his  foolhardiness." 

By  exerting  a  little  brute  force  and  awk 
wardness  a  man  in  almost  any  kind  of  an  office 
can  manage  to  make  a  fool  of  himself,  but 
when  he  takes  the  position  of  state  captain  for 
the  party  in  a  national  campaign  he  can  sit  still 
and  depend  upon  being  made  a  monkey  of  by 
any  one  of  a  thousand  energetic  hustlers  in  the 
organization  who  are  prancing  around  nights, 

245 


TATTLINGS  OF 


apparently  for  the  sole  purpose  of  putting  his 
foot  in  the  situation.  Compared  to  the  oppor 
tunities  open  to  a  national  committeeman,  a 
legislator,  a  congressman,  or  even  a  governor, 
stands  about  as  little  chance  to  do  himself 
harm  as  a  boy  with  a  bucksaw  and  a  big  wood 
pile. 

The  list  of  perils  that  pestered  the  Apostle 
Paul  would  look  mild  beside  the  array  of  pit 
falls  which  wait  for  the  feet  of  those  who  make 
straight  the  paths  of  party  triumph.  If  the 
holder  of  an  ordinary  office  keeps  close  tabs 
on  one  or  two  special  enemies  and  watches  his 
own  weak  points  with  particular  care,  he's  com 
paratively  safe;  but  the  party  general  in  a  big 
campaign  has  got  to  dodge  all  the  sharpshoot 
ers  on  the  other  side  and  give  most  of  his  time 
to  keeping  his  fool  friends  from  exploding  the 
ammunition  magazine  in  his  own  camp. 

Then,  again,  he  must  have  a  scent  for  land 
slides  and  storm  centers  that  approximates  om 
niscience.  Back  in  Busti  I  used  to  know  a  bee 
tree  hunter  who  insisted  that  even  in  the  dead 
of  winter  he  could  hear  the  hum  of  a  swarm  of 

246 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

bees  in  a  hollow  seventy  feet  from  the  ground 
the  minute  he  clapped  his  ear  to  the  butt  of 
the  tree.  That's  the  kind  of  an  ear  for  trouble 
you've  got  to  have,  Ned,  if  you  get  through 
with  the  job  you've  tackled  without  making  a 
mess  of  your  political  future.  And  right  on 
this  point  of  locating  storm  centers  I  want  to 
tell  you  a  story  that,  in  the  language  of  the 
evangelist,  will  "  bring  you  to  a  realizing  sense 
of  your  imperiled  condition." 

I  was  back  in  the  old  state  then,  as  you  know, 
and  taking  considerable  notice  of  what  was 
doing  on  the  inside  of  politics.  Little  Doc,  as 
you'll  recall,  was  the  national  committeeman 
from  our  state  and  also  state  secretary  of  the 
state  central  committee  at  the  time  when  the 
first  free  silver  campaign  broke  loose.  He  had 
his  enemies,  but  none  of  them  accused  him  of 
sleeping  daytimes,  and  I  knew  he  was  like 
father's  old  clay-bank  mare  in  one  respect 
— there  was  no  evidence  that  he  had  ever 
laid  down  in  his  stall,  in  the  fills,  or  in  double 
harness.  He  was  keen  as  a  fox  and  had  thrown 

247 


TATTLINGS  OF 


the  dogs  off  a  good  many  times  by  running  on 
the  top  rail  of  the  fence. 

Those  of  us  who  were  best  acquainted  with 
his  habits  felt  mighty  safe  when  he  landed  on 
the  national  committee  and  stood  for  our  state 
in  the  chief  councils  of  the  party.  But  there 
were  a  good  many  of  the  boys  down  in  the 
state  who  didn't  take  to  him  because  his  hair 
curled  and  he  changed  his  shirt  at  least  three 
times  a  week. 

Well,  anyhow,  he  was  the  captain  of  the 
party  ship  when  the  free  silver  flood  came  in. 
There  wasn't  a  man  in  our  party  who  didn't 
fairly  ooze  satisfaction.  Our  candidate  had 
been  nominated,  our  pet  plank  adopted  in  the 
platform,  and  the  whole  organization  in  the  old 
commonwealth  was  as  chesty  as  a  peacock  in 
Spring.  One  morning  in  June  the  faithful  in 
the  state  were  thrown  into  fits  by  an  inter 
view  from  our  member  of  the  national  com 
mittee.  The  war  horses  of  the  party  frothed 
at  the  mouth  and  pawed  the  air  as  they  read  the 
words  of  the  Little  Doc : 

"Our  state  is  the  storm  center  of  the  na- 
248 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

tional  campaign,  and  we  are  right  now  in  the 
Democratic  column.  If  the  election  were  to 
morrow  we  would  be  beaten  to  the  finish." 

This  from  our  member  of  the  national  com 
mittee  and  the  general  pilot  of  the  campaign! 
As  that  interview  percolated  out  through  the 
state  a  tidal  roar  set  towards  the  city  and  in 
creased  in  volume  with  every  passing  hour. 
Telegrams  began  to  pour  in  from  the  poli 
ticians  in  every  part  of  the  state — and  a  good 
many  of  them  were  actually  paid  messages. 
The  fellows  who  were  either  big  enough  or 
little  enough  to  speak  out  in  meeting  freed 
their  minds,  called  him  all  kinds  of  "  traitor  " 
and  "  fool,"  and  demanded  his  resignation 
from  both  national  and  state  committees. 

Inside  of  three  days  there  was  a  bushel  of 
letters  and  telegrams  from  all  over  the  state, 
all  of  the  writers  frothing  at  the  mouth  and 
reaching  for  the  scalp  of  the  "  fool  committee- 
man  "  who  had  "  disgraced  the  party  with  his 
blatant  and  cowardly  nonsense."  They  had 
a  great  deal  to  say  about  Little  Doc's  sugges 
tion  that  our  state  was  the  "storm  center" 

249 


TATTLINGS  OF 


of  the  national  campaign.  That  stuck  in  the 
crops  of  the  whole  outfit,  but  it  especially  riled 
the  members  of  the  state  and  county  central 
committees.  Somehow  they  seemed  to  con 
sider  it  as  a  personal  slap  at  them  and  they 
laid  it  down  hard  and  fast  that  their  rows  in 
the  party  vineyard  had  been  tended  to  in  a 
way  that  put  a  short  crop  out  of  the  question, 
regardless  of  weather. 

Speaking  moderately,  the  national  commit- 
teeman  found  himself  in  the  position  of  an 
"  official  forecaster,"  who  would,  on  the  balmi 
est  day  in  June,  hang  out  every  black  flag  and 
alarm  sign  in  the  outfit  and  notify  the  public 
that  inside  of  twenty-four  hours  there  would 
be  hail,  sleet,  and  snow  to  beat  Medicine  Hat, 
and  a  higher  speed  of  wind  than  ever  swept 
Kansas,  Missouri,  or  the  South  Seas.  But  all 
through  this  hubbub  the  Little  Doc  kept  right 
on  smiling— cool  and  happy  as  the  cane  ring 
fakir  at  a  county  fair.  All  he  did  was  to  call 
a  meeting  of  the  state  central  committee  and 
to  declare  that  he  had  been  correctly  quoted  in 
the  interview. 

250 


He  grabbed  the  lapels  of  his  coat 
and  addressed  the  committee. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

Up  to  that  time  a  meeting  of  the  state  cen 
tral  committee  had  resembled  a  reunion  of  the 
Gladhand  Brigade,  at  which  the  national  com- 
mitteeman  figured  as  the  guest  of  honor.  But 
this  time,  when  the  wheel  horses  came  in  from 
the  four  corners  of  the  commonwealth,  they 
didn't  pound  the  Little  Doc  on  the  back  quite 
as  hard  as  usual.  He  was  just  as  bright  and 
chipper  as  if  he  didn't  know  that  they  were  go 
ing  to  ask  his  head  on  a  salver  in  the  course  of 
the  immediate  proceedings.  He  represented 
the  First  district,  and  when  the  ball  opened  re 
marked  : 

"  As  I  seem  to  have  said  too  much  already, 
you  may  pass  right  on  to  other  brethren  and 
hear  their  reports  on  the  condition  of  the  work. 
Perhaps  some  of  them  may  wish  to  ask  a  few 
questions.  Then  I  might  like  to  make  some  in 
quiries  of  them.  We'll  all  feel  free  to  speak 
right  out  and  unburden  our  souls." 

Nick  Snively,  a  banker  from  a  country  dis 
trict,  was  the  first  one  called  on.  He  licked 
his  lips  and  smiled  as  he  grabbed  the  lapels  of 
his  coat  and  addressed  the  committee : 

253 


TATTLINGS  OF 


"  Gentlemen :  So  far  as  my  district  is  con 
cerned,  I  am  proud  to  give  an  emphatic  denial 
to  the  strange  and  alarming  rumors  that  have 
become  current  as  to  the  condition  of  the  party. 
You  may  rely  upon  the  old  Second  district  to 
roll  up  her  usual  majority  for  the  party.  She 
has  never  failed  yet  and  with  the  splendid  plat 
form  and  candidate  with  which  we  go  before 
the  people,  I  regard  the  battle  as  already  won." 

A  general  smile  passed  round  the  long  table 
as  Snively  sat  down,  and  the  lawyer  from  the 
Third  was  called  on  to  give  his  testimony. 
There  were  several  large  manufacturing  towns 
in  his  district,  and  only  once  in  the  history  of 
the  state  had  it  gone  Democratic.  He  was 
spoken  of  as  a  "  bright  man  "  and  a  "  good 
talker." 

"  Friends,"  he  said,  as  he  slipped  the  fingers 
of  his  right  hand  in  their  accustomed  place 
between  the  second  and  third  buttons  of  his 
Prince  Albert  coat,  "  I  have  searched  the  Third 
district  from  Coon  creek  to  Scrub  Oaks  hills, 
and  from  Prairie  Center  to  Cottonwood  Cor 
ners,  looking  for  a  storm  center.  There  isn't 

254 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

one  in  the  district  unless  it's  in  the  icehouses 
on  Clear  lake."  This  brought  a  round  of  laugh 
ter,  and  the  witty  lawyer  continued:  "  Down 
in  our  part  of  the  state  it  has  never  been  neces 
sary  to  cry  *  Wolf!  Wolf! '  in  order  to  get  out 
the  vote.  We  follow  the  even  tenor  of  our 
way  and  come  up  with  a  solid  front  for  the 
party  when  the  polls  open.  This  time  will  be 
no  exception.  The  substantial  men  of  the 
party,  the  leaders  of  public  opinion,  are  en 
thusiastic  for  the  candidates,  and  the  princi 
ples  with  which  we  appeal  to  the  voters." 

"  You  don't  think,  then,  that  the  free  silver 
heresy  has  made  any  inroads  into  the  party 
ranks  in  your  bailiwick?  "  meekly  inquired  Lit 
tle  Doc. 

"  No,  emphatically  no !  "  responded  the  law 
yer  with  smiling  dignity. 

Then  the  national  committeeman  turned  to 
Snively  and  asked :  "  You  don't  feel  that  the 
people  of  your  district  are  sitting  up  nights  to 
worry  about  the  crime  of  '73?  " 

"  I  should  say  not,"  he  answered.    "  Calam- 

255 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ity  howlers  are  scarce  down  our  way.  We 
haven't  gone  stark  crazy  if " 

"If  I  have,"  interrupted  the  Little  Doc. 
"  Well,  gentlemen,  I'm  going  to  make  a  few 
statements  right  here.  If  you  go  home  and 
any  of  you  find  things  different  than  what  I 
say — then  you  can  have  my  resignation  from 
both  the  committees  on  which  I  am  serving. 
Right  in  Nick  Snively's  district  there  are  three 
Silver  Republican  clubs;  one  has  306  members, 
another  248,  and  another  160.  Every  member 
is  pledged  to  vote  for  Bryan  and  free  silver. 
Of  course,  they're  secret  organizations,  but  I'll 
give  Mr.  Snively  a  list  of  their  meeting  places 
and  all  the  other  vital  statistics  so  that  he  can 
check  me  up  and  get  my  resignation." 

Then  the  Little  Doc  turned  to  Lawyer  Pratt 
and  said :  "  You  don't  seem  to  have  an  eye  for 
storm  centers.  Just  go  over  your  district  with 
this  list  and  you'll  find  seven  good  sized  ones — 
and  they're  growing  steadily.  They're  more 
Silver  Republican  clubs — and  if  you  don't  get 
busier  than  a  boy  killing  snakes  they'll  make 
your  election  returns  look  like  the  report  from 

256 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

a  banner  district  in  Mississippi.  But  there  are 
other  districts  a  whole  lot  worse  than  yours." 

"  I  don't  believe "  interrupted  Snively, 

and  the  lawyer  cut  in  with,  "  How  do  you 
know?  " 

"  When  we  get  all  the  testimonies  in,"  an 
swered  the  Little  Doc,  "  I'll  tell  you — for  you 
have  a  right  to  know.  But  I  insist  that  every 
man  shall  make  the  report  which  he  came  into 
this  meeting  intending  to  make." 

The  others  didn't  put  on  the  enthusiasm 
pedal  quite  so  thick  as  the  first  ones,  but  they 
stuck  to  it  that  party  sentiment  was  "  strong 
and  healthy,"  and  that  their  districts  could 
be  "  counted  on  to  roll  up  good  majorities  for 
McKinley  and  sound  money."  Then  the  na 
tional  committeeman  told  just  how  many  weak 
spots  he  could  put  his  finger  on  in  that  par 
ticular  territory,  and  he  closed  the  argument 
by  telling  the  men  who  had  joined  in  the  cry 
for  his  resignation  that  if  they  didn't  stir  up 
things  from  one  end  of  the  state  to  the  other 
the  whole  campaign  would  be  lost  and  the  re 
sponsibility  would  rest  on  their  shoulders. 

257 


TATTLINGS  OF 


After  that  he  explained  how  he  found  out 
that  Coin  Harvey's  book  had  supplanted  the 
family  Bible  in  thousands  of  Republican 
homes,  and  that  the  crime  of  '73  and  the  doc 
trine  of  redemption  by  free  silver  had  crowded 
out  the  old  orthodox  plan  of  salvation.  With 
out  consulting  any  one  he  had  sent  out  to  every 
county  of  the  state  a  picked  man  whose  os 
tensible  business  was  to  gather  up  crop  statis 
tics,  but  who  talked  politics  with  every  man 
he  came  across.  These  men  made  daily  re 
ports,  mailing  them  to  a  certain  lock  box  in 
the  city. 

In  a  few  days  he  found  that  the  deep  chested 
satisfaction  of  the  faithful  was  blind  belief  and 
had  no  connection  with  observation  of  actual 
conditions.  After  he  had  heard  from  every 
county  and  knew  that  enough  Republicans  had 
"  gone  silver  "  to  spell  defeat  the  Little  Doc 
gave  out  his  famous  interview. 

When  that  meeting  broke  up  the  members 
were  a  well  scared  bunch,  but  the  fright  didn't 
strike  clear  in  until  they  began  to  dig  into  the 
holes  the  Doc  had  marked  and  verify  his  state- 

258 


Coin  Harvey's  book  had  sup 
planted  the  family  Bible  in  thousands 
of  Republican  homes. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

ments.  Most  of  the  committeemen  found  the 
Silver  Republican  clubs  had  grown  in  numbers 
and  membership. 

Before,  it  had  been  impossible  to  raise  a  cam 
paign  fund,  and  many  had  said :  "  What's  the 
use?  It's  simply  throwing  it  away  to  spend 
it  for  what's  a  cinch  anyway."  After  the  scared 
committeemen  had  carried  the  news  of  the 
storm  center  among  their  people  you  couldn't 
keep  the  contributions  away  with  an  army  with 
banners.  The  money  rolled  in.  But  the  Little 
Doc  had  the  same  fight  to  arouse  the  mem 
bers  of  the  national  committee  that  he  had  in 
his  own  state.  Finally,  however,  he  got  them 
on  the  run,  and  whenever  they  could  see  a 
storm  center  they  went  after  it  hard.  And 
instead  of  being  called  upon  to  resign  the  Lit 
tle  Doc  was  the  king  pin  in  the  situation  and 
the  man  to  whom  Uncle  Mark  Hanna  went 
when  he  suspected  that  the  mists  of  prejudice 
or  complacency  were  obscuring  his  vision  and 
preventing  him  from  spotting  a  storm  center 
moving  down  from  the  Medicine  Hat  of  po 
litical  obscurity. 

261 


TATTLINGS  OF 


And  so,  Ned,  if  you're  going  to  run  the  na 
tional  campaign  in  your  next  year  don't  let 
the  assurances  of  the  country  members  lull  you 
into  complacency;  keep  both  eyes  and  both 
ears  open  for  the  signs  of  the  times;  put  your 
ear  to  the  butt  of  every  tree  that  could  possibly 
hold  bees  and  listen  for  a  buzzing  sound  from 
higher  up ;  take  a  crop  census  and  find  out  for 
sure  what  kind  of  scheme  of  salvation  is  being 
warmed  over  at  the  family  stove-hearth  of  the 
common  people. 

All  this  is  only  another  way  of  saying :  Look 
out  for  landslides.  The  uncertainty  of  their 
appearance  is  as  sure  as  that  of  the  coming  of 
the  Lord — they  are  bound,  as  I've  said  before, 
to  drop  in  "  at  a  moment  when  ye  think  not," 
and  "  like  a  thief  in  the  night." 

I  have  been  dug  out  of  the  edge  of  one  or 
two  landslides,  and  I  can  testify  that  nothing 
in  my  experience  ever  gave  me  anything  like 
the  same  feeling  excepting  being  hit  in  the 
stomach  with  a  baseball  batted  by  a  black 
smith's  apprentice.  And  as  far  as  that  goes, 
Ned,  the  red  schoolhouse  issue  put  you  on  the 

262 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

shelf  for  a  term — at  least  that's  the  way  you 
look  at  it. 

Perhaps  you  never  heard  the  true  inward 
ness  of  that  campaign  which  precipitated  the 
worst  landslide  in  the  history  of  the  old  state. 
There  was  some  apparent  dissatisfaction  with 
a  school  bill  that  the  Governor  had  signed,  but 
none  of  the  politicians  paid  any  attention  to 
that  for  the  reason  that  every  religious  denom 
ination  touched  by  it  had  been  represented  in 
the  commission  that  prepared  the  measure. 
Of  course,  the  Governor  had  signed  it  and 
thought  that  he  would  never  again  hear  from 
it,  as  it  was  an  agreed  bill.  But  when  he  was 
renominated  the  parochial  school  teachers 
camped  on  his  trail  and  made  it  some  hot  for 
him. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  never  saw  such 
meetings  as  the  Governor  had  that  campaign. 
When  we  struck  the  city  we  had  fairly  to 
blindfold  him  in  order  to  make  him  take  in  all 
the  meetings  scheduled.  His  old  army  wound 
got  to  hurting  him  after  he  had  done  about  so 
much  and  he'd  balk  right  in  the  shafts  and  re- 

263 


TATTLINGS  OF 


fuse  to  budge.  "  All  right,"  we'd  say,  "  this  is 
your  campaign.  If  you  don't  care  about  being 
Governor  again  we'll  be  glad  to  call  the  cam 
paign  off  right  here.  But  if  you'd  like  to  go 
back  to  the  mansion  there  are  several  thousand 
men  with  votes  waiting  to  see  you  at  the  meet 
ings  ahead  of  us.  Better  drop  in  and  see  them." 

This  brought  him  to  his  senses  and  he 
greeted  the  boys  like  a  lost  brother  just  re 
turned  from  the  war. 

When  the  votes  were  in,  we  felt  that  the 
count  was  a  good  deal  of  a  formality,  and  we 
put  in  more  time  figuring  out  how  the  patron 
age  in  the  state  would  be  parceled  out  than  we 
did  in  worrying  over  the  result.  But  when  the 
returns  began  to  come  in  we  felt  as  if  the  top 
of  Pike's  Peak  had  landed  us.  Everybody 
shouted:  "  The  little  red  schoolhouse  did  it!  " 
And  they  have  kept  up  that  cry  ever  since, 
without  stopping  to  figure  that  the  Governor 
ran  far  ahead  of  our  national  ticket.  He  simply 
got  in  the  way  of  a  landslide  that  started  at 
the  Homestead  mills  instead  of  a  red  school- 
house. 

264 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

So  far  as  I've  been  able  to  learn,  the  geolog 
ical  experts  of  politics  haven't  given  out  any 
authoritative  work  on  "  The  Law  of  Land 
slides,"  and  the  campaign  weather  department 
is  a  little  behind  on  the  handbook  of  "  How  to 
Locate  Storm  Centers." 

When  these  two  things  are  figured  out  to  a 
cocksure  scientific  certainty  there'll  be  about 
as  little  fun  in  playing  politics  as  in  shaking 
with  loaded  dice.  Without  an  occasional  up 
heaval  in  the  midst  of  a  calm,  politics  would 
become  a  business  instead  of  the  greatest  game 
that  an  American  gentleman  and  others  are 
privileged  to  play. 

The  campaign  manager  who  can't  see  trou 
ble  coming  across  several  states  is  as  poor  a 
politician  as  he  who  thinks  that  nothing  of 
great  consequence,  good  or  bad,  can  start  in 
his  own  commonwealth. 

Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


265 


THE    GLAD-HAND    BRIGADE. 

In  which  William  Bradley  tells  a 
pointed  story  of  the  poker  table  and 
cautions  Ned  against  the  conclusion 
that  there  is  a  bass  under  every  lily 
pad  or  a  friendly  vote  behind  every 
glad  hand. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  GLAD-HAND   BRIGADE. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

It's  mighty  good  of  you  to  come  straight 
out  and  say  that  whenever  we've  had  a  friendly 
difference  you've  found,  finally,  that  I  was  in 
the  right  of  it.  That  reminds  me  of  an  episode 
that  occurred  when  I  was  in  the  Senate.  In 
a  little  joint  session  of  select  members  rep 
resenting  both  houses  a  dispute  arose.  The 
youngest  man  in  the  bunch,  who  was  being 
tried  out  by  the  old  hands,  was  hot  about  his 
point  of  the  contention,  and  was  putting  up 
a  spirited  argument  when  in  came  Senator 
Bill,  who  had  been  raised  in  a  Mississippi  river 
tavern  and  learned  poker  from  the  great  mas 
ters  on  the  old  time  steamboats. 

"  Look  here,"  suggested  one  of  the  players, 
"  Billy  knows  more  about  poker  than  any  of 
us'll  ever  learn  if  we  sacrifice  all  our  salary 

269 


TATTLINGS  OF 


and  perquisites  on  the  altar  of  the  kitty.  I 
move  that  we  leave  it  to  Billy." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  new  man,  turning  to 
the  referee.  "  I  contend,  Senator,  that  the  ante 
man  has  the  right  to  raise  the  pot  before  the 
draw.  Am  I  right,  sir?  " 

"  The  chair  decides  that  you  are  right,"  was 
Billy's  prompt  answer,  and  the  game  pro 
ceeded. 

But  every  few  minutes  the  new  man  who  had 
been  sustained  by  the  referee  would  pound  the 
table  and  declare:  "Didn't  I  tell  you  I  was 
right?  "  After  awhile  he  began  to  contend  for 
other  points  with  the  argument :  "  There  you 
go  again!  Same  old  thing!  Can't  you  see 
I'm  right?  Didn't  the  Senator  say  I  was 
right?  " 

There  was  more  and  more  of  this  sort  of 
thing  until  it  grew  monotonous.  Finally  the 
Senator,  who  had  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could, 
broke  out  and  exclaimed: 

"  Look  here,  young  man.  Don't  get  it  into 
your  head  that,  just  because  you've  been  right 

270 


"/  move  we  leave  it  to  Senator 
Billy;  he  knows  more  about  poker 
then  we'll  ever  learn" 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

once,  you're  entitled  to  get  noisy  and  be  a  d — d 
fool  for  the  remainder  of  your  life." 

Now,  Ned,  because  you  are  big  and  broad 
enough  to  declare  me  in  the  right  I'm  not  go 
ing  to  keep  on  pounding  the  table  forever  and 
claiming  that  I  can't  be  wrong  in  any  position. 
But  I  can't  help  remarking  that  there  are  a  lot 
of  men  in  politics  who,  because  they  have  hap 
pened  to  be  right  once  or  twice,  feel  that  they're 
entitled  to  act  like  fools  for  the  remainder  of 
their  lives. 

There  is  just  one  point,  Ned,  on  which  I 
must  put  all  the  emphasis  of  a  sad  experience, 
starting  with  the  board  of  supervisors  and  trail 
ing  along  through  the  city  council,  the  legis 
lature,  the  lower  house  of  Congress,  the  Gov 
ernor's  chair,  and  the  United  States  Senate: 
"  Put  not  your  trust  in  the  Gladhand  Brigade  " 
— and  especially  in  that  contingent  of  it  that 
has  to  have  its  palms  crossed  with  silver  before 
the  charm  will  work. 

The  candidate  for  office  who  counts  his 
strength  by  the  number  of  glad  hands  he  gets 
in  that  campaign  is  a  good  deal  like  the  angler 

273 


TATTLINGS  OF 


who  figures  out  the  catch  of  black  bass  he's 
going  to  make  by  the  number  of  lily  pads  in 
sight.  And  sometimes  it  takes  a  long  while 
for  men  of  a  trusting  and  buoyant  tempera 
ment  to  learn  that  there  isn't  an  available  black 
bass  under  every  lily  pad  or  a  friendly  vote 
behind  every  glad  hand. 

According  to  my  classification,  the  Gladhand 
Brigade  is  cut  up  into  traitors,  trimmers,  drift 
ers,  and  stayers.  You  must  have  the  stayers  to 
draw  in  the  drifters  and  the  trimmers;  the 
traitors  you  could  get  along  without — but 
never  do!  The  drifters  and  the  trimmers  are 
fair  weather  fowls,  and  if  you're  caught  in  a 
storm  look  out  for  a  scattering. 

When  anybody  brings  up  the  subject  of  the 
Gladhand  Brigade  I  always  recall  what  Gen. 
Logan  said  to  me  one  time  when  we  happened 
to  meet  in  New  York.  He  was  on  his  way  to 
Washington  to  take  his  seat  in  the  Senate,  to 
which  he  had  just  been  elected  after  a  fierce 
fight  and  a  deadlock  lasting  about  six  months. 
He  brushed  back  his  splendid  black  hair,  in  his 
quick  way,  and  said : 

274 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

"  Yes,  Bill,  I'm  going  back.  There'll  be  a 
brass  band  and  a  lot  of  job  holders  waiting  with 
glad  hands  at  the  station  to  meet  me.  But 
somehow  it  won't  go  to  the  spot  as  it  used  to. 
You  may  have  forgotten  it,  Bill,  but  I  was  once 
the  Republican  candidate  for  the  Vice-Presi 
dency.  Right  after  the  convention  that  nom 
inated  Mr.  Blaine  and  myself  I  went  back  to 
Washington,  as  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  do 
ing,  quietly  sending  word  to  my  private  secre 
tary  on  what  train  I  should  arrive.  That  was 
all  I  thought  about  the  matter  until  I  got  into 
the  station  and  heard  the  bands  begin  to  play 
some  unprophetic  airs  of  the  *  Conquering 
Hero '  stripe.  Several  thousand  department 
clerks  gave  me  the  glad  hand  until  my  arm 
ached,  and  then  I  was  escorted,  to  slow  music, 
back  to  the  hotel. 

"  Somehow,  Bill,  that  made  my  foolish  old 
heart  feel  kind  of  good.  Just  then  the  thought 
that  every  one  of  those  fellows  had  an  ax  to 
grind  did  come  to  me,  but  I  cursed  my  own 
cynicism  and  said :  '  Yes,  but  they're  Amer 
ican  citizens ;  they're  my  kind  of  folks  and  I've 

275 


TATTLINGS  OF 


no  right  to  think  their  gladness  isn't  genuine.' 
This  was  the  way  in  which  I  reasoned  with  my 
self  as  I  was  being  driven  in  the  carriage  of 
honor." 

"Well,"  continued  Senator  Logan,  "after 
that  presidential  campaign  was  over  and  Mr. 
Cleveland  and  Mr.  Hendricks  had  begun  mak 
ing  history,  I  found  it  necessary  to  go  back 
to  Washington  again  and  clean  things  up  ready 
for  retirement.  As  usual,  I  wired  my  private 
secretary  to  meet  me  at  a  certain  train.  Some 
how,  as  I  stood  on  the  station  platform,  search 
ing  in  vain  for  my  secretary,  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  how  different  the  landscape  looked 
from  what  it  did  the  last  time  I  had  stepped  off 
the  train  and  heard  the  yells  of  thousands. 

"  Of  course,  all  that  might  be  naturally  ac 
counted  for;  no  doubt  the  boys  were  consid 
erably  depressed  at  the  prospect  of  losing  their 
scalps,  and  perhaps  they  thought  that  brass 
bands  might  jar  my  nerves  after  the  protracted 
excitement  of  the  campaign.  But  if  there  had 
been  just  a  few — say,  two  or  three  of  the  boys 
who  were  closest  to  me — there  to  meet  me  at 

276 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

the  station  the  future  wouldn't  have  seemed 
half  so  dark  or  the  unselfishness  of  the  race  so 
doubtful.  When  your  private  secretary  forgets 
the  train  at  which  he  is  to  meet  you,  make  up 
your  mind  that  public  sentiment  on  the  score 
of  your  usefulness  and  general  consequence 
has  touched  the  freezing  point. 

"  But,  now  that  I'm  again  in  position  to 
scratch  backs  and  indorse  applications,  you 
will  see  that  rny  ride  from  the  station'll  not  be 
as  lonesome  as  it  was  last  time.  I'll  be  met 
by  a  brass  band  and  a  thousand  clerks." 

That  night  I  had  a  telegram  from  Logan 
which  read :  "  Two  bands,  5,000  clerks  in  line. 
Secretary  on  board  before  wheels  stopped  mov 
ing." 

However,  Ned,  it  doesn't  do  to  get  sour  and 
persuade  yourself  that  there's  no  balm  in 
Gilead  and  no  such  thing  as  disinterested  loy 
alty  in  the  world  of  glad  hands. 

When  I  was  a  boy  our  folks  used  to  put  me 
through  an  annual  week  of  prayer  revival 
season,  and  it  always  resulted  in  giving  me  the 
feeling  that  everything  was  going  to  the  bow- 

277 


TATTLINGS  OF 


wows  anyhow,  and  that  man  was  the  only  mis 
take  the  Almighty  had  ever  made.  I  used  to 
grow  thin  and  peaked  under  the  pressure  of 
this  sort  of  religious  pessimism,  until  my  father 
would  say :  "  Now,  son,  just  laugh  a  little  and 
turn  your  liver  over !  It's  a  good  thing  to  face 
the  serious  side  of  life,  but  when  you've  gone 
around  for  a  month  with  the  book  of  Ecclesi- 
astes  written  on  your  face  and  the  feeling  in 
your  heart  that  everybody  ought  to  be  damned 
right  away,  then  you'd  better  remember  your 
mother  and  Aunt  Jane  and  a  few  other  good 
folks  and  cheer  up." 

So  it  is  on  the  question  of  the  Gladhand  Bri 
gade.  I  always  feel  like  tempering  my  general 
attitude  with  a  remembrance  of  a  few  good 
folks.  There  was  little  Jimmy  Sands,  for  in 
stance.  You  knew  him.  He  rode  my  district 
over,  the  first  time  I  ran  for  Congress,  and 
when  I  tried  to  hand  him  something  for  his 
actual  expenses  he  looked  really  hurt  and 
said  he  wasn't  doing  things  on  that  basis.  Of 
course,  the  thought  did  come  to  me :  "  That 
man'll  strike  me  heavy  for  some  good  job  that'll 

278 


"Now,  son,  just  laugh  a  little 
and  turn  your  liver 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

be  harder  to  give  than  money."  But  in  the 
scramble  of  a  hot  campaign  for  a  big  place,  and 
a  new  one,  a  man  grabs  at  every  straw  that 
comes  his  way,  without  stopping  to  look  at  the 
price  mark,  so  I  not  only  accepted  Jim's  help 
at  the  time  but  routed  him  out  at  any  time  of 
night  that  the  good  of  the  cause  demanded. 

But  that  wasn't  all.  I  mortgaged  every  post- 
mastership  in  the  district  and  every  other  scrap 
of  patronage  that  by  any  possibility  could  come 
my  way.  If  some  of  my  promises  overlapped 
a  little  I  just  told  the  boys  that  it  was  my  first 
fling  at  the  game,  and  that  in  the  excitement 
of  the  moment  I  must  have  dealt  the  same 
card  twice!  But,  anyhow,  I  calculated  I'd 
make  good  some  way  in  the  general  settlement. 
And  I  did !  But  by  the  time  I  had  worked  that 
puzzle  out  I  had  added  ten  years  to  my  age 
and  used  up  every  scrap  of  patronage  that 
could  be  raised  by  haunting  the  executive  office 
and  the  departments  until  they  began  to  call 
me  the  Importunate  Widow.  However,  I  land 
ed  all  who  could  prove  that  I  had  made  them 
any  sort  of  promise.  But  there  wasn't  even 

281 


TATTLINGS  OF 


an  empty  honor  for  steadfast  Jimmy  Sands.  I 
tried  to  make  myself  think  that  perhaps  he 
didn't  want  anything,  and  that  if  he  had  he 
would  have  asked  for  it.  There  wasn't  a  harder 
job  in  connection  with  that  first  congressional 
campaign  than  dreading  to  have  it  out  with 
Jimmy.  At  last,  however,  I  faced  the  music, 
called  him,  and  explained  that  I  had  been  try 
ing  to  cover  a  six  foot  bed  of  promises  with  a 
five  foot  patchwork  quilt  of  offices.  Jimmy 
looked  a  little  solemn  and  admitted  that  if  he 
had  been  offered  something  that  wasn't  above 
his  grade  in  education  he  wouldn't  have  re 
fused  it.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  I  didn't  ask  you 
for  anything,  Bill." 

That  was  all  right  until  I  came  to  hustle  for 
re-election.  Of  course,  I  wanted  to  be  returned 
worse,  if  anything,  than  I  had  wanted  to  go  just 
once  in  the  first  place — "  had  important  work 
to  finish,"  as  the  local  paper  said.  In  other 
words,  I  felt  a  failure  to  go  back  would  mean 
disgrace.  Consequently,  I  needed  the  help  of 
every  stanch  friend  like  Jimmy  Sands  more 
than  ever.  Lots  of  gladhanders  had  given  me 

282 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

just  as  good  assurances  that  they  were  "  all 
right  and  satisfied  "  as  had  Jimmy,  and  had 
then  gone  over  to  the  opposition.  But  when  I 
made  my  appeal  to  him  he  turned  up  at  head 
quarters. 

"  You  remember,  Jimmy,"  I  said,  "  how  it 
was  last  time  that  you  were  left  out  in  the 
cold."  "  But,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't  ask  you  for 
anything.  My  fault,  wasn't  it?  " 

Then  I  waited  for  him  to  come  forward  with 
a  plain  proposal  as  to  what  he  should  have  this 
time.  He  said  nothing,  however — simply  took 
off  his  coat  and  went  to  work.  All  through 
that  campaign  I  said  to  the  boys  in  the  organ 
ization:  "  There's  just  one  office  that  I'm  go 
ing  to  keep  to  play  with.  It's  a  matter  of  senti 
ment,  and  if  I  can't  win  without  mortgaging 
that,  then  I'll  lose.  But  I  won — and  I  waited 
to  see  how  long  it  would  take  Jimmy  Sands  to 
come  forward  and  ask  for  the  reward  of  an  un 
obtrusive  stayer. 

He  didn't  come,  however— even  after  some 
of  the  best  appointments  in  the  district  had 
been  given  out.  Then  I  landed  his  appoint- 

283 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ment  to  a  place  that  paid  him  ten  times  what 
he  had  been  earning  and  made  him  a  king 
among  his  fellows.  Jimmy  Sands  would  have 
had  his  hand  cut  off  without  wincing,  I  im 
agine;  but  he  bawled  good  when  I  broke  the 
news  to  him  at  him  own  home — and  how  his 
little  wife  did  hug  him! 

But  you  really  don't  get  the  full  force  of  the 
Gladhand  Habit  until  you  get  into  the  Senate. 
When  I  made  the  race  there  was  one  politician 
with  a  weazel  face  and  a  neck  about  half  the 
length  of  his  arm  who  was  a  trimmer  from  way- 
back,  but  he  had  some  influence.  He'd  sneak 
around  and  meet  me  on  the  sly,  protesting  that 
he  was  for  me,  "  heart  and  soul " — but  you 
couldn't  drag  him  into  my  headquarters.  He 
played  safety  from  start  to  finish,  but  I  worried 
along  and  landed  without  his  help. 

I  hadn't  any  more  than  taken  the  oath  of 
office  and  warmed  my  seat  in  the  Senate,  when 
his  card  was  sent  in  to  me. 

"  Senator,"  he  said,  blinking  his  bright  little 
eyes  and  dipping  his  long  neck,  "  I've  come  to 
ask  you  for  the  postmastership  in  my  city." 

284 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

"  And  your  indorsement?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  think  you  will  need  any  other  proof 
of  my  loyalty  than  this,"  he  replied,  taking 
from  his  pocket  a  carbon  copy  of  the  message 
of  congratulation  he  had  sent  me  four  hours 
after  my  election. 

"  That  office,"  said  I,  "  is  worth  $10,000  a 
year  and  there  are  just  twenty-nine  applicants 
for  it.  Every  one  of  them  camped  in  my  head 
quarters  and  sat  up  nights  for  me.  They 
weren't  afraid  to  be  caught  wearing  my  cam 
paign  button.  Now,  I  have  on  file  just  589  tele 
grams  of  congratulations  sent  by  people  who 
actually  were  on  my  side  before  the  final  bal 
lot.  The  man  who  gets  that  job  you're  after 
is  the  one  who's  after  your  political  scalp,  and 
he's  going  to  get  it  if  I  can  help  him — for  he's 
not  a  coward  or  a  trimmer,  and  he  doesn't  keep 
carbons  of  his  congratulatory  telegrams." 

Above  all,  Ned,  set  it  down  in  red  letters  that 
the  man  who  comes  to  you  and  asks  money  for 
his  time  hasn't  influence  enough  to  make  his 
time  worth  anything.  The  only  thing  he's 
good  for  is  to  tell  the  rest  of  the  honey  bees 

285 


TATTLINGS  OF 


where  your  bank  account  is.  Fve  lined  too 
many  bee  trees  not  to  know  how  that  plan 
works.  Just  put  out  some  sweets  on  a  shingle 
and  in  a  minute  a  few  bees  will  light.  Right 
away  every  one  of  them  will  return  with  mates. 
That's  the  way  bee  trees  are  located,  and  the 
only  thing  that  the  grafting  politician  has  in 
common  with  a  worker  bee  is  the  habit  of 
bringing  others  back  with  him  to  fill  up.  Turn 
down  all  the  fellows  who  come  to  you  straight 
for  money.  They're  dear  at  any  price. 
Yours  ever, 

William  Bradley 


286 


FIGHTS  AND  FEUDS. 

Being  a  few  remarks  and  a  story 
by  William  Bradley  on  the  useful 
ness  of  bull  courage  in  politics  and 
the  sores  that  come  from  the  kind 
of  man  who  feeds  on  fights  and 
feuds  and  loves  to  display  his  nerve 
better  than  a  pretty  matron  loves 
to  show  her  dimples. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FIGHTS  AND   FEUDS. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

Bull  courage  has  its  place  in  politics,  but 
unless  liberally  served  with  brains  it's  a  mighty 
dangerous  commodity  to  have  lying  around 
loose  in  any  political  camp.  The  powder  mag 
azine  or  the  dynamite  cellar  is  the  only  safe 
place  for  the  kind  of  political  nerve  that  feeds 
on  riot  and  rebellion  and  hungers  for  fights 
between  meals. 

If  I  am  not  mistaken,  Ned,  your  chief  lieu 
tenant  is  richly  gifted  with  this  sort  of  capacity 
for  trouble  and  I  want  to  give  you  a  jolt  that'll 
open  your  eyes  before  you  put  him  in  a  place 
where  he'll  make  a  magnificent  display  of  his 
surplus  courage  and  leave  you  with  a  feud  on 
your  hands  that  can't  be  lived  down  in  the 
course  of  a  natural  lifetime. 

There  are  some  politicians — and  some 
strong  ones,  too — who  would  rather  stand  pat 

289 


TATTLINGS  OF 


in  a  wrong  cause  and  bullyrag  and  face  down 
a  righteous  majority  in  a  convention,  or  a 
House,  than  to  be  right  from  the  very  start, 
and  win  out  without  any  fight  at  all.  And 
those  are  the  men  who,  in  a  day,  manage  to 
infect  a  political  camp  with  more  sores  than 
all  the  salves  of  diplomacy  can  heal  in  a  quar 
ter  of  a  century. 

When  you  find  a  politician  who  likes  to  dis 
play  his  steel-wire  nerve  better  than  a  pretty 
matron  loves  to  show  her  dimples,  just  cross 
him  off  your  slate  of  possible  campaign  man 
agers.  The  man  who  has  a  secret  passion  for 
playing  the  Mephistopheles  of  the  Imperturb 
able  Countenance  will  indulge  in  this  piece  of 
dramatics  at  the  most  expensive  moment,  so 
far  as  the  interests  of  his  associates  are  con 
cerned. 

Every  man  has  his  particular  soft  spot,  and 
the  special  besetting  weakness  of  the  sort  of 
politician  who  appears  to  be  an  intellectual 
marvel  and  an  emotional  immune  is  generally 
this  tendency  to  make  a  show  of  his  magnifi 
cent  nerve.  His  only  fear  is  that  he  may  be 

290 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

thought  capable  of  being  afraid;  his  vanity 
is  that  of  proving  himself  recklessly  indiffer 
ent  to  the  rights  and  opinions  of  others;  his 
one  vulnerable  spot  is  his  imperturbability. 

A  bag  of  wet  sand  is  a  soft  and  yielding 
thing  alongside  a  stick  of  hard  timber.  But  a 
lot  of  us  old  soldiers  can  testify  that  sacks  of 
soggy  sand  will  stop  more  bullets  than  a 
barricade  of  hickory  logs.  And  in  politics,  the 
man  who  has  enough  "  give  "  in  his  makeup 
to  be  thoroughly  human  is  less  liable  to  stir 
up  eternal  enmities  than  the  man  who  wears 
his  face  like  a  mask  and  would  sooner  appoint 
an  enemy  to  office  than  allow  an  emotion  to 
show  itself  on  the  front  side  of  his  counte 
nance. 

Perhaps  you  think  I'm  harping  pretty  strong 
on  the  subject  of  belligerent  nerve;  but  I  once 
had  this  view  of  the  matter  rubbed  into  me  in 
a  way  that  was  considerably  illuminating.  It 
was  on  the  occasion  of  the  first  congressional 
convention  I  ever  attended  that  this  lesson 
was  brought  home  to  me  in  a  way  that  raised 
my  hair  and  made  me  think,  for  the  time  be- 

2QI 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ing,  that  life  in  a  frontier  army  post  in  the 
Indian  country  would  be  safe  and  peaceful 
pastime  compared  with  politics. 

The  row  began,  in  the  old  district  where  I 
had  been  brought  up,  with  the  determination 
of  a  gritty  young  lawyer  with  green  eyes  and 
an  ambition  like  Lucifer  the  Son  of  the  Morn 
ing,  to  unseat  old  Gen.  Harnsworth,  who  had 
been  the  representative  for  so  long  that  he  had 
become  a  statesman  and  fallen  into  the  habit 
of  forgetting  to  take  care  of  the  boys  who 
were  hungry  for  fat  jobs. 

These  soreheads  concluded  that  the  time  had 
come  to  elect  a  politician  instead  of  a  states 
man,  and  so  they  started  out  to  run  a  still- 
hunt  in  the  town  caucuses.  The  old  general 
had  held  the  whip  hand  so  long  that  most  of 
the  stanch  party  men  had  been  awed  into  the 
conviction  that  he  was  a  sort  of  Gibraltar  in 
a  political  landscape  and  could  not  be  ousted 
by  any  sort  of  an  earthquake;  consequently 
they  were  in  a  position  of  a  lot  of  unruly  school 
boys  who  would  like  to  throw  out  the  school 
master,  but  didn't  dare  to  tackle  him. 

292 


The   caucus   was   called  in    Cy 
Waiters  little  lumber  office. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

Probably  the  revolt  would  have  died  out 
right  at  the  start  if  it  hadn't  been  for  a  few  hot 
heads  who  led  the  opposition  at  Blackberry 
Corners.  The  caucus  was  called  in  Cy  Waite's 
little  lumber  office  and  Squire  Sparks,  the 
leader  of  the  regulars,  opened  proceedings 
with  a  few  facetious  remarks  that  rubbed  the 
fur  the  wrong  way  of  the  grain.  Then  a  reso 
lution  was  offered  extolling  the  services  of  the 
distinguished  statesman  who  had  so  long  and 
ably  represented  the  district  in  the  national 
house  of  representatives  and  instructing  the 
delegates  to  use  "  every  honorable  means  "  to 
secure  his  renomination. 

Every  man  in  the  opposition  had  a  mighty 
strong  pair  of  lungs  and  used  them  to  full 
capacity  in  trying  to  yell  down  the  resolution. 
But  the  Squire  declared  it  carried  and  then  an 
nounced  that  the  room  would  be  cleared  and 
the  ballot  box  be  placed  in  the  open  window 
to  receive  the  ballots  for  delegates. 

Before  the  boys  of  the  opposition  could  fair 
ly  catch  their  breath  they  were  shoved  out  of 
the  office  and  the  door  locked  behind  them. 

295 


TATTLINGS  OF 


This  was  too  much  for  the  fiery  temper  of  Pat 
rick  Henry  Huggins,  editor  of  the  local  paper 
and  head  and  front  of  the  opposition  forces. 
He  rallied  his  braves  in  the  harness  shop  and 
after  three  minutes  of  consultation  he  led  a 
flying  wedge  that  would  have  sent  a  modern 
football  team  to  the  hospital  for  repairs,  drove 
through  the  crowd  around  the  lumber  office, 
kicked  in  the  door  himself,  and  grabbed  the 
ballot  box. 

Five  minutes  later  the  soreheads  were  hold 
ing  a  caucus  of  their  own  in  the  tavern,  where 
they  elected  a  full  set  of  delegates,  who  were 
sworn  not  to  eat  or  sleep  until  they  had  "  killed 
Paul."  In  other  words,  their  dander  was  up  to 
white  heat,  their  war  paint  on,  and  they  started 
out  to  ride  the  country  and  get  the  old  Gen 
eral's  scalp.  This  little  scrap  was  the  spark 
in  the  tinder  box  and  fired  an  amount  of  oppo 
sition  sentiment  which  had  not  been  thought 
possible  by  the  regulars. 

One  cunning  old  fox  who  had  long  nursed 
the  feeling  that  his  influence  and  importance 
had  not  been  properly  recognized  by  the  old 

296 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 


General  told  the  boys  to  do  the  hustling  and 
he  would  sit  still  in  his  office,  do  a  little  plain 
thinking,  and  see  if  he  couldn't  stack  the  cards 
in  a  way  that  would  bring  results. 

After  due  deliberation  he  decided  that  there 
was  just  one  man  in  the  county  who  was  equal 
to  the  job  that  the  opposition  had  in  hand, 
for  the  reason  that  his  nerve  was  sublime  and 
he  loved  to  fight  a  hopeless  majority  better 
than  an  old  hound  loves  to  follow  a  trail. 

This  man  was  old  Hiram  Bonney,  banker, 
note  shaver,  and  professional  philanthropist. 
He  had  been  too  busy  for  some  years  collecting 
interest  and  cutting  coupons  to  take  any  active 
part  in  politics,  but  after  the  situation  was 
carefully  explained  to  him  he  decided  that 
here  was  a  chance  for  some  tall  fun,  and  an 
opportunity  to  show  the  people  that  he  was  not 
made  of  mush  if  he  did  devote  a  considerable 
part  of  his  time  to  building  hospitals  and  or 
phan  asylums.  Consequently  he  smilingly 
agreed  to  do  the  work  cut  out  for  him  pro 
vided  he  should  be  made  chairman  of  the  con 
vention. 

297 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Because  of  his  social  standing,  his  financial 
prominence,  and  his  presumably  neutral  posi 
tion  in  politics,  the  regulars  readily  agreed  to 
the  proposition  that  he  should  be  named  as 
temporary  chairman  of  the  convention.  As 
the  regulars  composed  fully  three-fourths  of 
the  delegates  they  had  not  the  slightest  fear 
that  they  would  fail  to  have  their  own  way  from 
start  to  finish. 

The  proceedings  were  as  smooth  as  a  rainy 
day  session  of  a  Sunday  school  until  the  com 
mittee  on  credentials  brought  in  its  report. 
As  its  chairman  sat  down  the  editor  from 
Blackberry  Corners  arose  to  his  feet,  held  up 
in  his  hand  a  paper,  and  began  to  stammer 
something  which  even  those  nearest  him  could 
not  understand. 

Right  at  that  instant  my  eyes  were  studying 
the  serene  face  of  the  philanthropic  chairman. 
Except  for  a  peculiar  light  that  suddenly 
flashed  up  in  his  eyes  and  the  shadow  of  a  smile 
playing  about  the  corners  of  his  lips  his  coun 
tenance  did  not  show  the  slightest  change  as 

298 


At  that  instant  my  eyes  were 
studying  the  serene  face  of  the  philan 
thropic  chairman. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

he  quietly  interrupted  the  delegate  with  the 
question : 

"  Do  you  move  that  the  names  that  you  have 
read  be  substituted  for  those  previously  of 
fered  by  the  committee  on  credentials?  " 

"  Yes,"  shouted  back  the  delegate,  who  was 
answered  by  a  second  from  another  part  of 
the  hall. 

With  a  smile  on  his  lips  and  a  gleam  of  hate 
in  his  eyes  that  made  me  think  of  Dore's  pic 
ture  of  the  devil,  the  chairman  put  the  resolu 
tion  to  vote.  The  shout  of  the  "  nays  "  made 
the  room  shake  and  demonstrated  that  the 
regulars  were  in  immense  majority,  but,  in  a 
voice  as  clear  and  serene  as  if  he  were  leading 
family  prayers,  the  chairman  announced: 
"  The  ayes  have  it;  the  resolution  is  carried." 

Instantly  the  convention  was  changed  into  a 
human  cyclone.  Every  delegate  was  on  his 
feet  and  the  whole  assemblage  crowded  for 
ward  toward  the  speaker.  Big  Tom  Fairfield, 
who  stood  6  feet  4  in  his  stockings  and  weighed 
about  300  pounds,  made  a  dash  for  the  chair 
man,  swinging  his  fists  and  yelling :  "  Mob 

299 


TATTLINGS  OF 


the  scoundrel!  Throw  him  out!"  Dutch 
John,  the  boss  of  Little  Germany,  jumped  into 
a  chair  and  began  to  talk  in  English — but 
the  words  would  not  come  fast  enough,  so  he 
harangued  the  chair  in  his  native  tongue. 

Just  at  that  minute  I  chanced  to  notice  that 
the  sheriff,  a  brother-in-law  of  the  chairman, 
stepped  quickly  to  the  platform,  stood  close 
to  the  distinguished  philanthropist,  and 
reached  his  right  hand  around  to  his  own  hip 
pocket.  The  mob  in  front  of  the  chairman 
also  noticed  this  ominous  move  and  fell  back 
a  little. 

The  convention  was  still  a  howling  rage;  a 
dozen  men  near  me  were  actually  sobbing  and 
cries  of :  "  Kill  him !  Pound  him !  Mob  him !  " 
came  from  the  frenzied  regulars.  The  only 
man  not  beside  himself  was  the  chairman,  who 
instantly  put  through  a  motion  that  the  tem 
porary  organization  of  the  convention  be  made 
permanent. 

Well,  Ned,  to  make  it  short,  the  man  of  the 
iron  nerve  made  a  new  congressman,  a  new 
state  senator,  and  a  new  machine,  but  not  one 

ZOO 


Dutch  fohn  jumped  into  a  chair 
and  harangued  the  chairman  in  his 
native 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

of  them  lasted  beyond  a  single  term.  He  made 
something  else,  however,  that  has  lasted  more 
than  twenty  years.  The  party  feud  he  started 
that  day  has  never  been  healed  and  bids  fair  to 
survive  unto  the  second  and  third  generations. 
To  be  sure,  the  old  man  made  party  history 
with  a  vengeance  and  gave  himself  a  notorious 
place  in  the  political  traditions  of  the  district 
for  time  to  come,  but  most  of  the  men  who 
were  mixed  up  in  that  fight  have  ever  since 
been  busy  trying  to  square  themselves  with 
the  people  and  live  down  their  indiscretion. 

But  just  as  sure  as  one  of  them  shows  his 
head  in  a  hunt  for  office  some  one  with  a  long 
memory  comes  forward  and  remarks  that  "  the 
ayes  have  it."  That  settles  him. 

This,  and  a  score  of  other  expressions  along 
the  same  line,  make  me  a  little  cautious  about 
giving  full  rein  to  a  man  whose  vanity  is  along 
the  line  of  his  nerve.  Just  a  simple  little  fight 
in  politics  is  all  right  and  adds  spice  to  the 
game,  but  a  feud  that  rankles  for  a  quarter  of 
a  century  is  a  good  thing  to  steer  clear  of.  Sc 
I  repeat,  don't  give  your  belligerent  lieutenant 

303 


TATTLINGS  OF 


a  chance  to  show  off  his  bull  courage  at  the 
price  of  perpetual  enmity  that  will  be  visited 
upon  your  head  instead  of  his  own. 
Yours,  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


304 


TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT. 

Wherein  the  old  Governor  squares 
himself  for  harsh  words  about  the 
honor  of  legislators  and  draws  a  dis 
tinction  illustrated  by  an  experience 
that  once  "  cut  close  to  the  bone  " 
and  left  a  scar. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  TRAIL  OF   THE  SERPENT. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

I'm  a  little  surprised  that  you  should  hark 
back  to  one  of  my  old  letters  and  confess  that 
you  have  kept  a  sore  feeling  simmering  away 
under  your  wishbone  all  these  weeks.  I  thought 
you  knew  me  better  than  that,  Ned. 

And  so  you  resent  my  statement  that  I'd 
rather  have  a  son  of  mine  caught  stealing  scab 
sheep  than  see  him  elected  to  a  legislature? 
Well,  perhaps  that  was  putting  it  strong.  In 
fact,  I'll  admit  that  I  did  bear  down  hard  on  a 
whole  lot  of  good  men  when  I  bunched  the  en 
tire  legislative  field  in  that  sort  of  an  omnibus 
knock. 

Only  the  young  reformer,  in  the  first  intoxi 
cation  of  his  own  eloquence,  is  entitled  to  the 
lofty  privilege  of  lumping  humanity  into  two 
classes  and  then  taking  his  place  with  the  sheep 
while  he  makes  moral  faces  at  the  goats.  As 

307 


TATTLINGS  OF 


I  never  traded  much  in  reform  stock  of  the  pro 
fessional  sort,  I'll  not  begin  at  this  late  day  to 
pick  up  their  tricks  or  preach  their  sermons. 
I  stand  corrected  for  too  broad  a  conclusion 
and  failing  to  draw  the  distinctibn  that  excepts 
a  respectable  number  of  square  and  honest  law 
makers  from  the  moral  bats  who  somehow 
manage  to  sneak  in  under  every  statehouse 
dome  and  give  a  bad  name  to  the  legislative 
schools  in  which  such  men  as  Jefferson,  Clay 
and  Lincoln  had  their  schooling  for  a  bigger 
field. 

But  you  can't  understand  how  the  word 
"  legislature  "  riles  me  without  knowing  of  one 
or  two  experiences  that  burned  themselves  into 
my  recollection  when  I  first  went  down  to  the 
assembly  with  the  notion  that  I  was  honored 
by  a  trusting  constituency  and  was  going  to 
work  with  a  bunch  of  picked  men  for  the  best 
interests  of  the  old  state.  Sometimes  I  wake 
up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  look  back 
upon  one  or  two  of  those  legislative  scenes  un 
til  my  eyes  swim  and  my  teeth  grit! 

308 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

I've  never  yet  put  into  cold  words  the  one  ex 
perience  that  cut  me  closest,  but  I  guess  it's 
time  I  did,  for  you  can't  get  my  viewpoint  on 
this  legislative  business  without  it.  And 
there's  no  use  claiming  that  there  was  any 
novelty  in  what  I  went  through,  for  the  same 
sort  of  a  proceeding  had  been  repeated,  with 
variations,  under  the  shade  of  every  statehouse 
in  the  land.  But  to  the  story: 

You  were  at  home  that  session  holding 
down  the  sheriff's  office,  but  you  will  remem 
ber  that  the  corporations  made  the  great  fight 
that  winter  to  break  down  the  bars  on  the 
franchise  question.  It  was  war  to  the  hilt, 
and  the  Philippine  "  water  cure  "  was  a  mild 
and  Christian  method  compared  with  the  tac 
tics  which  the  corporations  put  into  play  from 
the  time  the  speaker  took  his  chair  and  named 
the  committees. 

Three  schoolboys  couldn't  have  made  up  to 
each  other  quicker  than  Big  Ed  Hammer  and 
Gentleman  Joe  Tolliver  and  I  got  together. 
Ed  was  a  veteran — as  sound  and  square  as  a 
marble  obelisk;  Joe,  like  myself,  was  in  his 

309 


TATTLINGS  OF 


maiden  term.  The  minute  I  caught  the  sparkle 
in  the  tail  of  Joe's  eye  I  knew  he  was  my  sort, 
and  Big  Ed  seemed  to  feel  the  same  way. 
And,  besides,  a  mutual  friend  had  told  Ed: 
"  You  take  these  two  youngsters  under  your 
wing,  give  'em  as  good  a  show  as  you  can, 
and  see  that  they  don't  get  into  mischief." 

Joe  had  the  winsomeness  of  a  modest  and 
tactful  woman,  with  a  clear  and  nimble  mind, 
that  marked  him  as  a  thoroughbred.  Every 
quality  he  showed  was  of  a  sort  to  mark  him 
as  a  gentleman  and  draw  me  closer  to  him. 
It  didn't  take  me  long  to  learn  that  time  isn't 
the  main  factor  in  forming  a  friendship;  that 
you  can  get  nearer  to  a  man  in  meeting  him 
every  day  for  three  months  and  fighting  bat 
tles  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  him  than  you 
could  in  fifteen  years  of  casual  contact  under 
commonplace  circumstances,  and  that  strong 
attachments,  like  fierce  enmities,  are  things 
of  swift  growth  in  the  strain  and  stress  of  legis 
lative  life. 

From  the  start  Ed,  Joe,  and  I  acted  together, 
had  adjoining  rooms,  and  were  as  thick  as  three 

310 


"In  fact  t  the  boys  soon  began  to 
callus  The  Three  Brothers." 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

peas  in  a  pod.  In  fact,  the  boys  soon  began  to 
call  us  the  Three  Brothers.  We  didn't  object 
to  being  bunched  in  this  way  and  accepted  the 
title  without  protest.  But  the  most  comfort 
able  and  important  basis  of  our  little  three 
cornered  brotherhood  was  the  fact  that  we 
seemed  to  size  up  the  right  and  wrong  of 
things  in  about  the  same  way.  And  it  doesn't 
take  a  guide  post  or  a  special  spiritual  ad 
viser  to  point  a  man  to  the  right  road  in  law- 
making  any  more  than  in  plain  business  of  any 
sort.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  settle  it  with  him 
self,  right  at  the  start,  that  he  is  going  to  be 
absolutely  square,  without  any  ifs  or  ands,  and 
then  stick  to  this  through  thick  and  thin.  But 
if  he  doesn't  draw  the  reins  tight  at  the  start 
and  if  he  allows  that  he  will  treat  every  propo 
sition  that  comes  up  individually  he  can  de 
pend  upon  it  that  he's  likely  to  do  a  lot  of  side 
stepping  before  he  is  through  with  the  game. 
We  talked  all  this  over  one  night  together 
in  Ed's  room,  and  he  laid  down  the  law  in  this 
way :  "  When  a  fellow  makes  it  up  with  him 
self  that  he's  going  to  stick  to  the  straight 

313 


TATTLINGS  OF 


track  from  one  end  to  the  other  without  ask 
ing  his  conscience  for  any  special  orders  to 
side  track  or  lay  over  he'll  pull  through  all 
right.  That's  the  schedule  I've  always  traveled 
on,  boys,  and  I'm  mighty  glad  to  find  that 
you're  inclined  to  run  on  the  same  orders.'" 

Big  Ed  was  the  head  and  front  of  the  oppo 
sition  to  the  franchise  forces,  and,  although 
we  were  only  cubs,  Joe  and  I  were  commonly 
regarded  as  his  first  lieutenants,  in  a  way. 
Day  and  night  we  worked  together,  sifting  out 
the  sheep  from  the  goats  and  building  up  an 
organization  that  would  stick  together  to  the 
last  ditch.  It  was  harder  work  than  holding 
a  plow  on  a  New  Hampshire  hillside,  but  Big 
Ed  was  heart  and  soul  in  the  fight  and  threw 
his  whole  being  into  it.  Every  night  we  got 
together  and  counted  noses.  Sometimes  this 
was  a  mighty  solemn  proceeding,  because  now 
and  then  the  enemy  snatched  a  man  from  our 
forces. 

But  occasionally  there  was  a  season  of  re 
joicing  in  our  camp  when  we  were  able  to 

314 


^  There  was  Joe — but  of  all  the 
besotted  specimens  of  drunken  human- 
itv  I  ever  beheld  he  was  the  worst  " 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

snatch  a  brand  from  the  burning  by  convinc 
ing  a  weak-kneed  fence  straddler  that  he 
couldn't  afford  to  trifle  with  temptation  or  do 
anything  short  of  enlisting  with  the  boodle 
fighters. 

All  through  these  ups  and  downs  Ed,  Joe, 
and  I  stood  together  like  the  three  legs  of  a 
tripod,  without  a  shadow  of  difference  coming 
between  us. 

The  first  of  the  two  big  boodle  bills  was 
close  up  to  a  third  reading  as  I  entered  the 
house  one  morning  to  begin  the  day's  struggle 
with  more  courage  than  I  had  been  able  to 
scrape  up  since  the  long  battle  began.  Joe's 
seat  was  almost  across  the  aisle  from  my  own, 
and  as  I  turned  to  speak  to  him  I  saw  a  sight 
that  made  my  eyes  start  and  my  flesh  creep. 

There  was  Joe — but  of  all  the  draggled,  be 
sotted,  and  filthy  specimens  of  drunken  hu 
manity  that  I  ever  beheld  he  was  the  worst. 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  hit  between  the  eyes  with 
a  sledge.  For  a  few  minutes  I  couldn't  have 
told,  to  save  me,  the  name  of  any  man  sitting 


TATTLINGS  OF 


five  feet  in  front  of  us.  Just  as  I  began  to  re 
cover  my  senses  a  little  from  the  shock  Big  Ed 
came  in,  took  one  look  at  the  Little  Brother, 
as  we  sometimes  called  Joe,  and  winced  as  if 
he  had  been  stabbed. 

Of  course,  we  had  him  taken  out  and  carried 
to  his  room,  but  from  that  minute  he  slunk 
away  from  us  whenever  he  could  get  a  chance. 
Our  little  brotherhood  was  broken,  and  he 
avoided  us  as  consistently  as  he  had  formerly 
stood  by  us. 

Although  Ed  and  I  put  in  as  much  time  try 
ing  to  get  Joe  sobered  up  as  we  did  in  carry 
ing  on  the  fight  against  the  corporation  bills 
in  the  house,  he  did  not  see  a  single  rational 
hour. 

It  was  as  idle  to  attempt  to  reason  with  Joe 
in  his  transformed  and  besotted  state  as  to 
argue  with  a  crazy  Indian.  He  was  seldom 
in  his  seat  in  the  house  and  spent  most  of  his 
time  in  the  "  Black  Lodge,"  the  center  of  die 
spider  web  which  the  agents  of  the  franchise 
interests  threw  out  in  every  direction  to  catch 
their  victim. 

318 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

One  day  while  Joe  was  over  there  at  the 
Black  Lodge,  in  the  keeping  of  the  men  who 
had  been  told  off  in  the  start  to  run  Joe  down, 
and,  as  the  leader  of  the  gang  put  it,  "  break 
his  back,"  a  young  woman  with  big,  sad  eyes 
called  to  see  me.  I  knew  who  she  was  the  min 
ute  her  card  was  sent  up,  for  Joe  had  told  me 
all  about  her  and  intimated  that  they  expected 
to  be  married  shortly  after  the  session  was 
over. 

In  a  low  but  shaking  voice  she  told  me  how, 
five  years  before,  Joe  had  suddenly  put  an  end 
to  a  career  of  dissipation,  settled  down  to  hard 
work,  and  after  a  year  of  steady  pulling  in  the 
harness  had  proposed  to  her.  Not  a  hitch  in 
their  happiness  had  occurred  until  the  morn 
ing  when  I  found  Joe  transformed  into  a  sot. 
In  answer  to  a  few  questions  she  confirmed  my 
suspicion  that  the  boodle  hounds  had  hunted 
back  along  Joe's  trail  until  they  found  his  be 
setting  weakness,  and  had  then  deliberately 
started  out  to  "  land  "  him  with  drink. 

Well,  after  that  every  time  I  came  back  to 
the  city  the  white  face  of  that  young  woman 


TATTLINGS  OF 


was  waiting  for  me  behind  the  iron  fence  in 
the  big  passenger  station.  But  there  was  lit 
tle  hope  to  give  her  as  she  lifted  her  pitifully 
appealing  eyes  to  me  and  put  the  question: 
"Is  the  Little  Brother  any  better?"  How 
ever,  the  girl's  grit  never  failed  her  and  she 
hung  on  like  grim  death. 

The  night  before  the  first  franchise  bill  was 
to  be  put  to  final  vote  I  came  across  Joe  sitting 
sullenly  in  a  lonesome  corner  of  the  hotel  cor 
ridor,  his  gaze  fixed  gloomily  on  a  figure  in 
the  mosaic  flooring.  There  was  just  a  sugges 
tion  of  his  old  self  in  his  eyes  as  he  glanced 
up  at  me  and  silently  took  the  hand  which  I 
held  out  to  him. 

For  a  few  minutes  we  sat  in  silence.  Then 
I  drew  my  chair  closer  to  him  and  said : 

"  Joe,  have  I  ever  tried  to  control  you  in  any 
thing  down  here?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  Have  I  always  left  everything  to  your  own 
manhood?  " 

"  Yes." 

320 


" ''Every  time  I  came  back  to  the 
city  the  white  face  of  that  young 
woman  was  waiting  for  me  in  the 
passenger  station" 


"Let  me  go!      I">ve  got  to   tell 
'cm,  but  I'll  do  it." 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

"  Well,  I  just  want  to  ask  you  if  you're  go 
ing  to  stand  square  for  the  right  thing  on  roll 
call  tomorrow?  " 

His  hands  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair, 
his  bleared  face  grew  ashen,  and  he  drew  his 
breath  in  with  a  gasp.  For  some  minutes  he 
stared  at  the  floor.  Then,  in  the  voice  that  a 
man  uses  in  crying  out  to  the  man  within 
himself,  he  said: 

"  Let  me  go!  Let  me  go!  I've  got  to  tell 
'em;  but  I'll  do  it.  I'll  come  back.  You  stay 
right  here." 

He  jumped  to  his  feet  and  made  a  dash 
to  the  door,  where  a  cab  was  waiting  for  him. 
Of  course,  I  knew  that  he  was  bound  for  the 
Black  Lodge,  and  I  knew  if  he  ever  pulled 
himself  loose  from  the  spiders  down  there  it 
would  be  nothing  short  of  a  miracle. 

But  in  less  than  a  half  hour  he  was  back 
again,  with  something  like  a  flicker  of  his  old 
smile  on  his  face  as  he  said : 

"I  did  it.  I  told  'em.  I'm  with  you, 
brother." 

And  he  was  as  good  as  his  word.    When  the 

323 


TATTLINGS  OF 


vote  came  he  was  with  us,  and  we  knocked  out 
the  boodle  bill. 

That  act,  however,  was  the  last  convulsion 
of  his  expiring  manhood.  From  that  time  he 
was  hopelessly  with  the  enemy  body  and  soul, 
and  voted  with  them  on  the  second  franchise 
bill,  against  which  Big  Ed  led  the  forces  of 
decency. 

There  isn't  much  to  tell  beyond  this.  Joe 
dropped  down  and  down  until  he  couldn't  get 
to  his  seat  in  the  house.  That  ended  his  use 
fulness  to  the  boodle  gang,  and  they  kicked 
him  out  as  they  would  a  sick  dog.  Ed,  the 
girl,  and  I  nursed  him  until  he  could  be  taken 
home. 

A  week  or  two  finished  him,  and  then  we  all 
went  down  to  put  him  away.  At  that  funeral, 
as  I  looked  from  his  broken  old  mother  and 
his  wasted  sweetheart  to  a  little  group  of  mem 
bers  who  had  helped  to  "  break  his  back  and 
throw  him  off  the  water  wagon,"  the  devious 
ways  of  modern  lawmaking  looked  pesky  mean 
and  hateful  to  me,  I  can  tell  you!  And  I've 
seen  enough  of  the  same  sort  of  wrecks  since 

324 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

to  prove  that  Joe's  experience  wasn't  an  excep 
tion  to  the  rule.  There  are  hundreds  of  other 
cases  like  his. 

And  the  memory  of  those  that  have  come 
across  my  own  path  always  stirs  up  my  bile  un 
til  I  find  myself  saying  hard  things,  as  I  did  in 
that  old  letter  about  legislators  in  general. 
But,  once  for  all,  let  me  say  that  there  are  hun 
dreds  of  good  men  making  state  laws  in  this 
country,  and  that  I  take  off  my  hat  to  every 
one  of  them  who  is  on  the  square  and  doesn't 
sidestep  from  the  strait  and  narrow  path. 
Yours  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


3*5 


FRUITS  OF  VICTORY. 

In  which  Ned  gets  some  interest 
ing  light  from  William  Bradley  on 
the  subject  of  whether  the  game  is 
worth  the  candle  and,  incidentally, 
on  the  importance  of  His  Majesty 
the  Speaker  and  of  the  newspaper 
men  in  the  making  of  live  congress 
men  and  dead  statesmen.  The  old 
Governor  makes  his  point  with  two 
stories  that  show  what  a  real 
Speaker  can  do  when  he  takes  his 
coat  off. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
FRUITS  OF   VICTORY, 

Brokenstraw  Ranch,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

And  so,  after  all,  you're  going  to  Con 
gress  !  With  the  convention  already  held  and 
the  opposition  in  such  a  state  of  al 
most  infantile  helplessness,  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  possibly  fall  down.  Yes,  I'll  bear  wit 
ness  to  the  fact  that  you've  always  stuck  to  it 
that  your  ambition  would  be  completely  satis 
fied  if  you  could  be  sent  to  Congress  from  the 
old  district. 

Of  course  I  knew  that  wasn't  true,  although 
you  thought  it  was — and  think  so  now.  When 
a  good  live  American  citizen,  who  has  once 
tasted  the  blood  of  public  office,  sets  a  stake 
for  his  ambition  and  says :  "  Thus  far  and  no 
farther,"  and  promises  himself  perfect  content 
when  he  reaches  that  mark,  he  puts  himself 
in  the  position  of  the  old  fellow  down  in  Ar 
kansas  who  lived  to  eat  and  insisted  that  if 

329 


TATTLINGS  OF 


he  once  could  get  outside  of  a  dinner  of  terra 
pin,  canvasbacks  and  champagne  he'd  never 
ask  to  eat  again  in  this  world. 

After  you've  once  fairly  warmed  your  seat 
in  the  House  you'll  realize  that  you've  only 
begun  to  live,  and  that  the  United  States  Sen 
ate  is  the  only  real  diamond-pointed  stopping 
place  for  an  able  man's  ambition.  Then,  after 
you've  landed  in  the  Senate  and  grown  a  little 
familiar  with  the  scenery  there,  the  White 
House  will  be  about  the  only  landmark  that 
will  loom  up  on  your  horizon. 

At  first  you'll  be  ashamed  to  acknowledge 
the  thought,  even  in  the  secret  place  of  your 
own  inner  consciousness.  Next  you'll  argue 
with  yourself  that  there  have  been  a  whole 
lot  of  worse  Presidents  than  you  would  make, 
and  that  the  woods  are  full  of  presidential 
timber,  hollow  in  the  trunk  and  showing  dead 
limbs  at  the  top.  It's  not  the  thing  we  have 
in  hand  but  the  one  that's  just  ahead  of  us 
that  we  hanker  for  in  politics,  as  in  everything 
else. 

330 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

But  you  are  all  right,  Ned,  in  your  deter 
mination  to  make  every  hour  of  your  congres 
sional  service  count,  and  count  hard.  You 
say  that  you  want  some  advice  that  gets  right 
down  to  brass  tacks,  and  will  help  you  to 
make  good  with  your  people  before  the  first 
crop  of  soreheads  has  a  chance  to  go  to  seed. 

Before  I  went  into  politics  I  used  to  think 
that  Canada  thistles  were  the  hardest  things 
in  the  world  to  kill  down  and  the  swiftest  to 
spread;  but  IVe  since  discovered  that  the  po 
litical  sorehead  has  a  cirich  on  immortality  that 
makes  the  thistle  a  thing  of  the  passing  mo 
ment. 

I'm  told  that  a  queen  bee  lays  several 
thousand  eggs  a  day  and  delegates  the  tend 
ing  of  them  entirely  to  slaves — but  even  at 
that  rate  Mrs.  Bee  is  at  a  decided  disadvantage 
in  the  work  of  perpetuating  the  species  com 
pared  with  a  political  sorehead  who  keeps 
reasonably  busy  sowing  dissensions.  A  social 
scandal  in  a  country  town  is  a  slow  spreader 
alongside  a  well  directed  spirit  of  dissatisfac 
tion  with  the  work  of  a  new  congressman. 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Keep  your  sorehead  crop  mowed  tight  to 
the  ground  and  then  cover  the  spot  with  rock 
salt  every  week  or  two.  In  other  words,  give 
them  the  Canada  thistle  treatment  in  its  se 
verest  form.  And  even  then  they're  sure  to 
show  their  heads  in  a  new  place  every  little 
while. 

You  might  as  well  make  up  your  mind, 
right  at  the  start,  Ned,  to  defer  being  a  states 
man  until  after  you're  dead.  If  you're  a  good 
enough  politician  while  living,  your  mourning 
constituents  and  the  newspapers  will  take  care 
of  your  promotion  to  the  statesman  class  after 
you're  gone.  This  isn't  saying  that  you  are 
to  think  of  nothing  and  work  for  nothing  out 
side  of  getting  things  for  your  fellows  and 
holding  your  seat. 

As  near  as  I  was  able  to  size  up  the  situa 
tion,  there's  a  sentiment  among  the  members 
of  the  national  House  that  every  Representa 
tive  is  entitled  to  have  one  pet  hobby  along 
the  line  of  disinterested  statesmanship,  so  long 
as  he  does  not  allow  it  to  interfere  with  his  reg- 

332 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

ular  duties  as  a  "  getter  "  for  his  own  particular 
constituency. 

There  isn't  much  sentiment  in  this  view  of 
the  matter  but  all  the  same  it  works  out  well 
in  actual  practice.  If  it  eases  his  feelings  any, 
let  the  new  member  regard  the  job-hunting 
and  the  hustling  for  special  legislation  de 
manded  by  influential  constituents  as  the  rou 
tine  drudgery  by  which  he  is  to  hold  his  job 
while  he  works  out  his  pet  scheme  of  "  broad 
statesmanship." 

There's  some  consolation  in  this  view  of 
the  matter — but  he  may  be  sure  that  the  boys 
who  are  keeping  up  his  fences  at  home  and 
trying  to  kill  out  the  Canada  thistles,  look  at 
it  that  he's  entitled  to  potter  around  with  his 
pet  theory  of  legislation  so  long  as  he  doesn't 
allow  it  to  cut  into  their  interests  or  those  of 
his  district.  A  fad  for  collecting  old  china, 
colonial  furniture  or  rare  coins  would  be  tol 
erated  in  the  same  way  by  these  fellows  who 
man  the  political  machine  and  keep  it  going. 

If  the  congressional  recruit  can  hold  his 
seat  long  enough  to  make  the  people  of  the 

333 


TATTLINGS  OF 


country  at  large  connect  his  name  with  a  par 
ticular  line  of  legislation,  his  followers  will 
swell  with  pride  because  he  has  made  good, 
gets  his  name  in  the  papers  and  is  classed  as  an 
authority.  But  the  congressman  who  allows 
himself  to  think  that  his  reputation  as  a  states 
man  or  legislative  specialist  is  going  to  excuse 
him  from  drumming  up  places  in  the  depart 
ments  for  the  boys  is  going  to  be  left  at  home 
with  plenty  of  time  on  his  hands  in  which  to 
write  reminiscences  for  the  Eastern  Maga 
zines. 

So,  set  it  down  at  the  start,  that  your  states 
manship  is  a  luxury  to  be  cultivated  in  mo 
ments  of  leisure.  Of  course,  it's  not  particular 
ly  stimulating  to  one's  patriotism  to  take  this 
view  of  the  case,  but  the  practical  man  will 
square  himself  to  actual  conditions — and  if 
these  are  not  now  the  conditions,  things  have 
changed  mightily  since  I  used  to  haunt  the 
departments  and  lie  awake  nights  trying  to 
pipe  lines  of  influence  into  the  working  de 
partment  of  the  White  House. 

Perhaps  you  may  feel  that  you've  fooled 

334 


"First  square  y  our stlf  with  His 
Majesty,  the  Speaker — and  keep  your 
self  squared. " 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

around  a  legislature  long  enough  to  get  on  to 
all  the  important  wrinkles  that  are  really 
worth  knowing  so  far  as  the  general  business 
of  law-making  is  concerned;  but  I've  found 
out  that  familiarity  breeds  blindness  as  well 
as  contempt  and  that  a  man  is  likely  to  over 
look  an  important  point  of  the  game  in  which 
he  is  a  regular  sitter.  So,  Ned,  I'm  going  to 
lay  down  the  law  as  it  looks  to  me,  on  two 
things  that  you  may  be  supposed  to  know  just 
as  well  as  I  do.  Anyhow,  these  tips  will  come 
in  handy  by  way  of  emphasis  to  your  own 
observation  and  will  help  you  to  start  off  your 
congressional  career  along  practical  lines. 

First,  square  yourself  with  his  majesty,  the 
Speaker — and  keep  squared,  no  matter  if  you 
have  to  sell  your  shoes  and  sit  up  nights  to  do 
it.  The  man  behind  the  gavel  is  the  keeper  of 
your  destiny  and  the  captain  of  your  congres 
sional  soul.  The  nod  of  his  head  can  do  more 
to  make  or  unmake  you  politically  than  a 
dozen  speeches  that  are  cheered  from  the  gal 
lery, 

I  had  my  lesson  in  the  power  of  a  speaker 

337 


TATTLINGS  OF 


way  back  in  my  second  legislative  term  when 
old  Jeremiah  Bless  ruled  the  House.  He  was  a 
great  parliamentarian  and  his  book  on  that 
subject  was  regarded  as  the  real  authority  in 
our  state.  As  you  probably  remember,  he  was 
the  prince  of  political  straddlers,  had  been  ten 
times  elected  to  the  House  and  never  twice 
on  precisely  the  same  ticket. 

That  year  he  was  elected  on  what  he  called 
the  Independent  ticket — and  as  soon  as  he  ar 
rived  at  the  state  house  he  was  powerful  par 
ticular  that  there  should  be  no  confusion  as  to 
the  precise  complexion  of  his  party  affiliations. 
Oh!  But  he  was  a  cunning  old  fox  and  had 
the  audacity  of  a  brindle  bull  dog! 

There  had  been  a  close  campaign  and  when 
we  started  in  to  organize  the  House  and  line 
up  the  members  it  developed  that  the  two  par 
ties  were  equally  divided  and  that  old  Jeremiah 
held  the  absolute  balance  of  power.  Of  course, 
there  was  a  quick  scramble  on  the  part  of  each 
side  to  capture  the  wily  old  straddler,  who  had 
in  years  past  served  one  term  as  speaker  when 
he  called  himself  a  Republican. 

338 


\       i    _L..     —        - 


Old  Jeremiah  Bless   nominating 
himself  for  Speaker  of  the  House. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

But  the  crafty  old  fox  refused  to  give  definite 
encouragement  to  either  side,  although  he  kept 
up  a  constant  flirtation  with  the  leaders  of 
both.  This  deadlock  continued  until  the  House 
convened  and  each  party  placed  its  candidate 
for  speaker  in  nomination.  After  the  elo 
quence  of  the  nominating  oratory  had  sub 
sided  old  Jeremiah  arose.  Instantly  the  House 
became  as  still  as  a  church  during  the  passing 
of  the  contribution  box.  With  a  face  masked 
in  almost  sober  seriousness  the  man  who  held 
the  deciding  vote  began  his  speech  with  the 
declaration : 

"  I  am  an  Independent.  My  party  has  a 
candidate  for  the  speakership  of  this  honor 
able  House  and  the  necessity  of  presenting  his 
name  and  claims  devolves  upon  me." 

This  beginning  was  greeted  with  yells — for 
he  was  the  only  Independent  in  the  assembly! 
For  half  an  hour  old  Jeremiah  held  the  House 
in  close  attention  while  he  reviewed  his  own 
career  and  analyzed  his  own  character  with  an 
impartiality  that  was  magnificent.  The  sub 
lime  effrontery  of  the  man  simply  dazed  the 


TATTLINGS  OF 


members  and  carried  them  off  their  feet,  and 
when  he  closed  by  offering  his  own  name  the 
cheers  from  both  sides  made  the  house  ring. 

Well,  after  the  deadlock  had  held  on  for  a 
few  weeks  and  the  public  at  large  was  howling 
for  almost  any  kind  of  a  speaker  in  order 
to  get  at  the  business  of  the  session,  old  Jere 
miah  fixed  up  a  deal  with  the  Democrats,  was 
elected  speaker  and  took  the  gavel  for  a  rule 
that  undoubtedly  gave  Tom  Reed  pointers 
on  the  proper  conduct  of  an  American  Czar. 
The  Prophet,  as  we  called  him,  ran  things  that 
Winter  in  a  style  that  was  a  perpetual  lesson  in 
personal  dictatorship  and  made  the  authority 
of  an  old-time  master  pilot  on  the  Mississippi 
look  like  child's  play. 

Things  hadn't  been  going  on  long  before 
the  fate  of  a  big  measure  turned  on  the 
speaker's  ruling.  It  was  a  simple  parlia 
mentary  problem  and  the  right  of  the  matter 
was  as  clear  as  a  man's  privilege  to  kiss  his 
own  wife  behind  the  pantry  door.  But  the 
ruling  that  seemed  inevitable  was  contrary  to 
the  interests  of  the  forces  with  which  the 

342 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

speaker  was  training.  Naturally  we  all 
thought  we  had  old  Jeremiah  at  a  decided  dis 
advantage. 

When  the  point  was  raised,  however,  he 
ruled  against  us  and  never  batted  an  eye  as  he 
declared  "  The  chair  decides  that  the  point  is 
not  well  taken.  The  bill,  therefore,  passes  to 
a  third  reading." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth 
when  the  leader  of  our  side  jumped  to  his  feet 
and  demanded  the  privilege  of  reading  from 
an  authority  which  he  declared  "  The  speaker 
of  the  house  cannot  fail  to  recognize  as  con 
clusive." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  old  Jeremiah. 

The  excitement  was  right  up  to  concert 
pitch  as  the  member  finished  reading  the  au 
thority. 

"  Who  wrote  that  book?  "  blandly  inquired 
the  speaker. 

"  The  paragraph,"  returned  the  member, 
with  a  smile  of  triumph  on  his  lips,  "  which 
so  conclusively  maintains  our  contention,  is 

343 


TATTLINGS  OF 


from  the  able  treatise  written  by  the  speaker 
of  this  House,  the  Honorable  Jeremiah — " 

A  howl  of  derision  interrupted  the  member's 
remarks  at  this  point  and  we  waited  to  see 
how  gracefully  old  Jeremiah  would  back  water. 
A  thump  of  the  gavel  restored  order  and  the 
speaker  smilingly  said: 

"  The  chair  does  not  recognize  the  work 
from  which  the  gentleman  quotes  as  having 
the  weight  of  an  authority.  To  his  personal 
knowledge  the  book  abounds  in  statements 
and  conclusions  that  have  been  repeatedly 
proved  erroneous — and  in  the  opinion  of  the 
speaker  of  this  House  there  is  not  in  the  whole 
work  a  more  unsound  and  mistaken  statement 
than  that  which  the  gentleman  has  read  in 
your  hearing.  The  decision  of  the  chair  will 
not  be  revised  unless  some  member  can  bring 
forward  a  better  authority  than  has  been 
cited." 

Some  of  our  crowd  were  so  mad  that  they 
couldn't  appreciate  the  sublime  audacity  of  old 
Jeremiah's  ruling  against  himself;  but  it  hit 

344 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

the  funny  bone  of  most  of  us  so  hard  that 
the  sting  of  unjust  defeat  died  out  with  the 
roar  of  laughter  that  went  up  from  every  part 
of  the  house. 

A  little  later,  however,  a  situation  arose 
which  we  thought  covered  all  emergencies  and 
didn't  leave  a  hole  as  big  as  a  pin  point  through 
which  the  old  fox  could  crawl  out.  Just  be 
fore  intermission  the  speaker  made  a  ruling 
which,  when  brought  to  bear  on  a  measure  that 
was  coming  up  in  the  afternoon,  would  kill 
the  progress  of  a  big  railroad  bill  which  the 
speaker's  crowd  was  pushing.  The  trap  had 
been  carefully  laid  by  our  boys,  who  were 
fighting  the  bill,  and  we  were  as  tickle.d  as  a 
girl  with  her  first  proposal  when  old  Jeremiah 
fell  into  it  and  put  himself  on  record  regarding 
the  point  of  issue. 

He  hadn't  been  in  his  room  five  minutes 
when  the  general  counsel  of  the  interested  road 
was  admitted. 

"  Mr.  Speaker,"  said  the  railroad  emissary, 
"  I'm  afraid  that  you  don't  realize  that  your 

345 


TATTLINGS  OF 


last  ruling  will  absolutely  kill  No.  409  dead — 
and  that  the  opposition  is  only  waiting  to 
throw  your  own  ruling  back  in  your  face  with 
in  three  hours  after  you've  spcken  it." 

Then  after  stroking  his  beard  for  a  moment 
the  caller  added:  "  And  I've  been  informed — 
reliably,  I  hope — that  you  are  not  hostile  to  the 


measure." 


"  No,"  easily  replied  Jeremiah,  "  the  bill's 
all  right,  but  I  am  going  to  show  that  bunch 
of  smartie  school  boys  that  there's  more  than 
one  way  to  skin  a  cat  and  that  a  real  prophet 
don't  have  to  work  a  miracle  and  make  the 
stream  of  parliamentary  practice  run  up  hill 
in  order  to  leave  them  in  the  lurch.  You  just 
rest  easy  and  see  what  happens  when  they 
start  in  on  their  little  game." 

After  recess,  and  just  before  the  railroad 
bill  was  reached,  the  speaker  called  an  ambi 
tious  young  Republican  to  the  chair  and  then 
retired  to  the  lounging  room.  This  young 
chap  had  served  two  or  three  terms  before 
and  had  a  notion  that  he  knew  more  about  par- 

346 


"No"  replied  Speaker  Jeremiah, 
"Tin  going  to  show  that  bunch  of 
smartie  schoolboys  that  there's  more 
than  one  way  to  skin  a  cat.*"1 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

liamentary  law  than  any  speaker  who  had 
ever  occupied  the  chair — and  particularly  than 
old  Jeremiah.  And  besides  that,  he  came  from 
a  district  in  which  the  railroad  most  to  be  ben 
efited  by  the  bill  had  its  largest  shops. 

In  other  words  here  was  a  chance  for  him 
to  give  the  speaker's  ruling  a  black  eye  and  at 
the  same  time  give  the  interests  that  controlled 
the  politics  of  his  bailiwick  just  what  they 
wanted.  Of  course,  there  was  a  howl  of  rage, 
but  we  had  to  take  our  medicine.  He  ruled 
against  us,  and  took  five  minutes  in  which  to 
explain  why  he  differed  from  the  ruling  given 
in  the  forenoon  by  the  regular  speaker. 

After  this  experience  I  didn't  need  to  be  told 
that  the  main  thing  in  making  a  record  as  a 
lawmaker  is  to  have  a  line  on  the  speaker. 
And  I  also  concluded  that  it's  worth  while  to 
keep  in  touch  with  the  men  who  are  likely  to 
be  called  to  the  chair  when  the  speaker  is  ab 
sent  or  taking  a  little  breathing  spell. 

Then  don't  forget  that  the  press  gallery  of 
the  House  is  a  most  important  part  of  the  sit- 

349 


TATTLINGS  OF 


uation.  Many  a  Washington  correspondent 
wearing  a  small  hat  has  done  more  to  make 
certain  congressmen  into  statesmen  than  all 
the  oratory,  flowers  and  game  dinners  they 
managed  to  pull  off  in  the  course  of  their  dis 
tinguished  careers.  Be  useful  to  the  news 
paper  boys,  Ned,  and  you  can  afford  occasion 
ally  to  step  on  the  toes  of  some  mighty  im 
portant  individuals  who  prance  around  in  the 
statesmen  stables  and  consider  themselves 
mighty  showy  stock. 

The  only  thing  that  a  congressman  can  af 
ford  to  steal  is  news,  and  he  shouldn't  do  that 
if  there  is  any  harm  to  come  of  it.  But  when 
he  can  tip  off  a  good  thing  to  his  friends  in 
the  press  gallery  he's  adding  a  leaf  to  his  laurels 
and  a  line  of  praise  to  his  public  record  as  a 
sure-enough  statesman. 

You  make  mention  in  your  letter  of  the 
"  fruits  of  victory."  I  don't  wholly  share  the 
pessimistic  view  of  the  book  of  Ecclesiastes  on 
this  score;  they  have  yielded  me  something 
more  than  "  vanity  of  vanities,"  but  all  the 
same  you'll  never  gather  a  larger  harvest  of 

350 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

that  sort  of  fruit  than  right  now,  when  you're 
reading  congratulations  and  getting  your  grip 
ready  for  the  trip  to  Washington. 

After  you  get  into  the  harness  in  the  House 
you'll  find  just  as  much  trimming  and  back- 
scratching  as  in  the  Legislature,  only  it's  on  a 
bigger  scale.  Perhaps  you  think  you're  going 
to  be  thrown  with  men  of  big  caliber  who  are 
above  petty  things. 

I  thought  so  too— until  I  saw  a  real  states 
man,  one  of  the  drive-wheels  of  the  House,  get 
as  mad  as  a  hornet  over  the  fact  that  his  com 
mittee  didn't  get  the  room  he  wanted.  You 
know  how  a  boy  acts  when  he  sees  his  girl  on 
another  fellow's  sled?  Just  make  up  your  mind 
that  this  kind  of  juvenile  history  is  repeated 
every  day  by  the  distinguished  statesmen  with 
whom  you  are  enjoying  the  privilege  of  inti 
mate  association. 

I  don't  want  to  throw  cold  water  on  the 
bare  back  of  your  new-born  joy,  Ned,  but  in  all 
the  fruits  of  victory  you'll  never  taste  anything 
sweeter  than  the  grip  of  happiness  that 
clutched  your  throat  that  night  when  you 


TATTLINGS  OF 


came  down  from  the  convention  and  your  wife 
hugged  you  as  you  tried  to  tell  her  how  it  all 
happened. 

Just  give  her  my  best  regards. 
Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley, 


352 


LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT. 

Wherein  William  Bradley  demon 
strates  to  Ned  that,  while  love  at 
first  sight  is  a  mighty  taking  propo 
sition  in  the  beginning  of  story 
book  or  in  matrimonial  affairs  of 
other  folks,  it  has  led  many  a  trust 
ing  politician  to  pack  his  own  cau 
cus  with  secret  enemies  without 
leaving  standing  room  for  his  real 
friends. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
LOVE   AT   FIRST   SIGHT. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

Before  you  have  been  in  Washington  a  fort 
night  you  write  me  that  you  have  formed 
friendships  which  you  feel  will  last  for  the  rest 
of  your  natural  life. 

That's  just  like  you,  Ned — as  impulsive  as  a 
setter  pup  and  ready  to  play  tag  with  the  very 
boot  that's  waiting  for  the  first  good  chance 
to  kick  you  off  the  back  steps.  It's  too  bad 
to  apply  the  freezing  treatment  to  a  faith  as 
fine  and  ready  as  yours,  but  if  you  continue  to 
hand  out  the  coin  of  your  confidence  and  the 
currency  of  your  friendship  without  collateral 
or  security  in  kind  at  the  rate  you  have  started 
in  on,  one  short  term  at  Washington  will  be 
enough  to  put  your  political  future  into  the 
hands  of  a  receiver. 

Love-at-first-sight  is  a  mighty  taking  propo 
sition  in  the  start  of  a  story  or  in  the  matri- 

355 


TATTLINGS  OF 


monial  affairs  of  other  folks,  but  it  has  led 
many  a  politician  to  pack  his  own  caucus  with 
a  choice  assortment  of  secret  enemies,  without 
leaving  standing  room  for  his  real  friends  who 
would  stay  with  him  through  flood  and  fire. 
Impetuosity  is  all  right  in  a  campaign  speech 
in  which  you  are  pounding  the  open  enemy, 
but  it  is  a  whole  lot  safer  to  put  part  of  it  in 
escrow  when  it  comes  to  hooking  up  with  a 
lot  of  seasoned  old  stagers  who  have  played 
politics  at  the  national  capital  ever  since  you 
became  sufficiently  civilized  to  wear  a  night 
shirt. 

On  general  principles,  the  picking  of  friends 
is  a  doubtful  and  ticklish  business,  but  in  poli 
tics  the  showdown  comes  so  quick  and  often 
that  the  trusting  tenderfoot  is  likely  to  find 
himself  all  in  before  he  has  time  to  recover 
anything  on  his  contributions  to  the  jackpots 
of  experience. 

Any  politician  who  has  enough  of  the  gift 
of  prophecy  six  times  in  ten  to  pick  a  friend 
and  spot  an  enemy  on  sight  can  have  all  the 
official  persimmons  he  cares  to  gather  in — and 

356 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

all  creation  can't  stop  him.  But  there  aren't 
enough  of  this  sort  of  men  with  the  real  simon- 
pure  article  of  political  second  sight  under  their 
hats  to  keep  the  history  of  politics  from  look 
ing  like  the  report  of  a  convention  of  traitors. 
The  higher  up  you  get,  the  greater  is  the  pres 
sure  of  practical  necessity,  and  the  board  of 
strategy  is  constantly  obliged  to  make  larger 
drafts  on  the  supposition  that  all's  fair  in  love 
and  war. 

Speaking  of  leaning  too  hard  on  the  shoul 
ders  of  your  love-at-first-sight  friends  reminds 
me  of  the  experience  of  a  young  Democrat  who 
saw  the  first  Cleveland  boom  above  the  horizon 
when  it  was  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand.  Mr. 
Cleveland  and  his  father  had  been  friends  from 
boyhood,  and  when  the  presidential  bee  be 
gan  to  buzz,  Grover  sent  for  the  young  man 
and  put  him  in  charge  of  everything  in  his 
state. 

This  was  a  nervy  thing  to  do,  for  the  reason 
that  the  state  was  in  the  doubtful  list,  but 
looked  particularly  promising  that  year  for 
the  Democrats.  Then,  too,  the  young  man 

357 


TATTLINGS  OF 


had  been  in  the  state  but  a  short  time  and 
was  not  recognized  by  the  regular  machine 
which  had  a  grip  on  several  of  the  state  offices. 

When  it  got  out  that  this  young  man  held 
credentials  straight  from  Cleveland  as  Captain 
of  the  Hosts  in  that  state  and  was  expected 
to  send  an  instructed  delegation  to  the  national 
convention,  there  was  war  in  camp  and  the 
machine  leaders  cut  out  their  work  to  kill  in 
structions  and  show  "  the  little  alien  upstart " 
that  he  couldn't  come  into  the  state  and  run 
things  over  their  heads. 

They  knew  that  the  people  of  the  party  were 
with  the  young  man  and  sentiment  was  strong 
throughout  the  state  for  Mr.  Cleveland,  but 
they  also  knew  that  in  case  of  ultimate  tri 
umph  all  along  the  line  the  machine  would 
have  to  stand  back  and  watch  the  young  friend 
of  the  man  from  Buffalo  hand  out  the  official 
plums  and  give  orders  for  future  business. 
This  made  them  smart  with  resentment  and 
they  were  determined  to  "  show  the  young 
man,"  no  matter  if  it  cost  the  nomination  of 

358 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

the  only  man  who  could  carry  the  party  to  a 
national  victory. 

The  first  move  they  made  was  to  put  through 
the  state  central  committee  a  new  program 
for  the  coming  convention  that  did  violence 
to  the  precedents  of  years  and  reversed  the 
order  of  business  in  such  a  manner  that  the 
chairman  could  hopelessly  jockey  the  question 
of  instructions  by  a  confusion  of  amended  mo 
tions. 

But  the  young  man  saw  just  where  and  how 
the  fight  was  shaping  as  well  as  they  did.  By 
long  distance  telephone  he  placed  the  situa 
tion  before  Mr.  Cleveland,  mapped  out  a  line 
of  action  and  had  it  approved  in  detail  by  the 
big  chief.  Then  he  called  a  conference  of  those 
interested  in  tying  up  the  delegation  snug  and 
tight  with  instructions  for  Grover  Cleveland 
and  passed  out  the  word  that  the  one  job  on 
hand  was  to  agree  upon  every  detail  of  the 
fight  in  the  convention  so  that  there  would  be 
no  pounding  the  air,  no  false  motions — every 
blow  aimed  and  timed  to  do  the  heaviest  execu 
tion. 

359 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Now  the  young  captain  had  touched  up  with 
the  Mayor  of  his  city,  who  was  as  smooth  as 
axle  grease  and  knew  every  party  hanger-on 
by  his  front  name.  And  that  is  only  another 
way  of  saying  that  the  city  executive  had  a 
large  list  of  hungry  hunters  for  office  for  whom 
he  had  been  unable  to  find  places  on  the  pay 
roll. 

Somehow  Mr.  Mayor  managed  to  snuggle 
up  to  the  vest  of  my  young  friend  and  warm 
a  nice  generous  spot  for  himself  there.  As 
things  moved  along  he  brought  a  whole  lot 
of  his  braves  into  the  camp  of  my  friend  and 
gave  them  recommendations  that  would  have 
done  a  candidate  for  Sunday-school  superin 
tendent  proud. 

Like  yourself,  the  young  leader  thought  he 
had  found  a  friend  that  would  stay  with  him 
until  the  roof  fell  in,  and  he  hugged  himself 
every  time  the  Mayor's  name  came  to  his  mind. 
Every  now  and  then  the  Mayor  would  come  to 
him  and  say: 

"  John,  there's  a  young  friend  of  mine  who 
knows  the  ropes  from  deck  to  masthead  and 

360 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

if  you've  no  objection  I  should  like  to  have 
him  in  the  conference  when  we  frame  up  the 
program.  His  advice  is  worth  having,  and 
I'd  feel  safer  if  he  were  right  on  hand  where 
we  could  get  the  benefit  of  his  knowledge." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  of  course,"  was  the  in 
variable  reply,  "  your  friends  are  my  friends." 

When  the  night  of  the  pow-wow  came  and 
the  conference  assembled  in  secret  session,  my 
young  friend  looked  upon  the  result  of  his  labor 
and  knew  that  it  was  good.  As  he  scanned 
the  faces  in  the  packed  room  he  caught  the 
benignant  and  fatherly  smile  of  the  Mayor — 
and  once  more  gave  inward  thanks  for  the  aid 
of  so  stalwart  a  friend.  Then  his  eye  wan 
dered  over  the  rest  of  the  assembled  faithful; 
in  every  direction  he  looked  his  glance  was 
met  by  the  face  of  some  bright  young  hustler 
who  had  been  brought  into  the  field  by  the 
invitation  of  the  Mayor. 

Yes,  it  was  a  great  gift  to  be  able  to  pick 
the  right  sort  of  friends  and  do  it  without  the 
slow  process  of  time.  What  was  time,  any 
how,  when  it  came  to  forming  the  real  attach- 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ments  that  hold  men  of  the  world  together? 
he  asked  himself — and  answered  his  own  ques 
tion  with  the  scriptural  line :  "  One  day  is  as 
a  thousand  years,  and  a  thousand  years  as  one 
day."  All  this  passed  through  his  mind  in  a 
flash  as  the  stragglers  were  settling  down  into 
their  seats.  There  was  a  little  well-trimmed 
oratory  just  to  put  the  meeting  into  the  proper 
spirit — and  then  the  young  leader  arose  and 
outlined  the  plan  of  action  to  be  followed. 

After  a  motion  had  been  put  to  adopt  the 
scheme  as  a  fighting  program  in  the  conven 
tion,  the  Mayor  arose  and  asked  the  privilege 
of  "  introducing "  his  views  on  one  or  two 
points  which,  he  feared,  had  been  "  overlooked 
by  the  younger  adherents  of  the  cause."  He 
didn't  begin  by  clearing  his  throat — not  he! 
He  was  too  smooth  for  that.  His  voice  was 
soft-pedaled  down  to  the  pitch  of  a  moonlight 
prelude  and  every  word  dripped  from  his  lips 
was  coated  with  emulsion  of  honey. 

Before  he  sat  down  he  contrived  to  sug 
gest  that  the  conference  was  not  a  representa 
tive  one;  that  the  main  spokes  in  the  young 

362 


The  Mayor  arose  and  asked  the 
privilege  of  introducing  his  views  on 
one  or  two  points. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

man's  machine  were  not  delegates  to  the  con 
vention;  that  the  person  suggested  for  floor 
leader  was  not  in  touch  with  the  rank  and  file 
of  the  party;  that  the  young  leader  himself 
was  not  familiar  with  the  ropes  or  the  men 
who  should  manipulate  them  and  that  an  ad 
journment  should  be  taken  until  a  "  thorough 
ly  representative  body,  mainly  composed  of 
actual  delegates,"  could  be  brought  together 
to  determine  upon  the  proper  course  of  action. 
Then,  in  purely  an  inadvertent  way,  he 
dropped  the  suggestion  that  a  certain  young 
man — an  oily  little  whipper-snapper  who  had 
been  sneaked  into  the  convention  under  the 
Mayor's  own  coat-tails — had  that  "  intimate 
acquaintance  with  local  men  and  conditions 
which  pre-eminently  fitted  him  for  the  im 
portant  position  of  floor  leader  in  the  conven 
tion,"  and  that  a  certain  trio  of  choice  scamps 
from  the  city  hall  gang  would  make  a  strong 
committee  that  could  skunk  the  enemy  and  get 
an  instructed  delegation  for  the  Sage  of  Buf 
falo  before  the  convention  waked  up  to  the 
knowledge  that  it  was  being  worked. 

365 


TATTLINGS  OF 


But,  in  particular,  the  Mayor  put  the  em 
phasis  of  his  finish  on  the  point  that  the  plan 
of  the  young  leader  to  overthrow  the  order 
of  business  outlined  by  the  state  central  com 
mittee  would  not  only  arouse  antagonism  on 
the  part  of  the  regular  organization,  but  was 
wholly  unnecessary — as  that  result  could  be 
so  easily  and  quietly  accomplished  by  the  re 
sourceful  trio  he  had  suggested  as  a  steering 
committee. 

As  the  Mayor  took  his  seat  it  was  plain  to 
see  from  the  serene  smile  that  oozed  from  the 
pores  of  his  countenance  that  he  expected  his 
proposition  would  be  accepted  by  the  confer 
ence  as  eagerly  as  a  mold  of  pigs-feet  jelly 
would  be  assimilated  by  a  Dutch  picnic  party. 

Instantly  my  friend  was  on  his  feet — his 
eyes  lit  up  like  a  blacksmith's  anvil  in  a  Sat 
urday's  rush  of  business. 

"  I  may  not  have  lived  in  this  state  as  long 
as  some  people  who  are  not  yet  buried,"  de 
clared  the  young  leader,  "  and  I  see  evidences 
that  I  am  a  little  short  on  a  full  knowledge  of 
'  local  men  and  conditions ';  but  I  can  tell  the 

366 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

gentleman  who  has  just  spoken  that  I  put 
away  my  teething  ring  and  baby  '  pacifier  '  sev 
eral  years  ago  and  that  my  high  chair  went 
into  the  retirement  of  the  family  attic  about 
the  time  he  was  first  elected  to  office.  There 
isn't  going  to  be  any  postponement  of  this  con 
ference;  I'm  going  to  appoint  the  steering  com 
mittee  myself;  the  plan  of  action  that  I've 
outlined  is  going  to  be  carried  out  in  the  con 
vention  to  the  letter — and  he's  going  to  get 
out  of  this  meeting  and  get  out  quick.  We'll 
stop  right  here  while  he  takes  himself  away  and 
if  there  are  any  others  here  of  his  stripe — and 
there  are — they'll  do  well  to  follow  him 
through  the  door.  The  headquarters  of  the  old 
organization  are  over  Siler's  saloon — but  I 
guess  he  knows  the  way/' 

Nothing  short  of  this  sudden  show  of  nerve 
ever  saved  the  young  leader's  bacon,  for  the 
oily  man  from  the  city  hall  had  packed  the  con 
ference  with  his  own  clansmen.  Then,  besides, 
there  were  several  weak-kneed  sisters  in  my 
young  friend's  forces,  and  without  this  stock 

367 


TATTLINGS  OF 


of  good  fighting  grit  they  would  have  wavered 
and  faltered. 

But  that  dash  put  sap  into  the  whole  outfit 
and  they  rushed  the  program  through  in  a 
hurry  and  closed  the  conference.  They  had 
one  spellbinder  in  the  bunch  who  was  a  power 
when  once  he  got  on  a  full  head  of  steam,  but 
it  took  a  heap  of  fire  to  get  him  started.  This 
conference  warmed  him  through  and  when, 
as  floor  leader,  he  let  go  his  oratory  the  con 
vention  was  swept  off  its  feet  and  the  instruc 
tions  went  through  with  whoop. 

The  Mayor  tried  to  crawl  back  into  the  band 
wagon,  but  my  young  friend  wouldn't  so  much 
as  let  him  carry  a  torch  in  the  precinct  march 
ing  club.  Later,  after  the  election  had  placed 
Mr.  Cleveland  in  the  White  House,  the  young 
leader  was  apportioned  to  deal  out  the  plums 
in  the  state  and  the  way  he  handled  the  appli 
cations  for  office  on  the  part  of  the  fellows  who 
had  been  mixed  up  with  his  old  thirty-day 
friend,  the  Mayor,  was  a  study  in  the  art  of 
neglect. 

368 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

"  Once  I  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  love  at 
first  sight/'  he  remarked  to  me,  "  but  now  I 
don't  trifle  with  any  friendships  that  have  not 
been  seasoned  in  the  open  air  of  experience." 

From  all  this  some  people  might  be  inclined 
to  draw  the  conclusion  that  the  only  safe  thing 
to  do  is  to  hold  all  comers  as  enemies  until  they 
prove  themselves  friends,  but  you've  too  much 
horse  sense  to  go  to  this  extreme,  I  think.  The 
man  who  hates  at  first  sight  is  almost  as  likely 
to  make  a  mess  of  it  as  the  fellow  whose  friend 
ship  is  set  on  a  hair  trigger. 

In  the  last  national  campaign  I  was  sent 
out  to  Iowa  to  do  a  little  talking  and  to  fill 
some  emergency  dates  under  the  direction  of 
the  state  central  committee.  One  day  the 
chairman  of  the  oratory  department  said  to 
me: 

"  One  of  our  fellows  who  was  billed  to  speak 
at  Sugar  Grove  tomorrow  night  has  jumped 
the  track  and  I'd  like  to  have  you  run  down 
there  and  give  them  a  rousing  talk.  Somehow 
that  neck  of  the  woods  has  been  neglected  by 

369 


TATTLINGS  OF 


our  folks,  whoVe  sort  of  let  it  go  to  the  enemy 
by  default.  There  isn't  another  place  in  the 
state  where  the  right  kind  of  a  talk  would  do 
the  good  that  it  would  there.  Will  you  go?  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  answered.  "  It  doesn't  matter 
to  me  where  you  send  me." 

Now  the  young  chap  who  hammered  the 
typewriter  had  evidently  taken  a  shine  to  me 
and  when  the  captain  of  the  spellbinder  de 
partment  stepped  out  of  the  room  the  lad  said 
to  me: 

"  It  wouldn't  be  fair,  sir,  for  me  to  keep  still 
and  let  you  go  out  to  Sugar  Grove  without  ex 
plaining  that  they'll  mob  you  just  as  sure  as 
you  set  foot  in  their  measly  little  backwoods 
town.  That's  why  the  other  man  ducked  at  the 
last  minute.  There's  a  gang  out  there  wait 
ing  to  break  the  head  of  any  man  of  our  kind 
that  dares  to  take  the  stump  inside  the  county 
limits.  We  haven't  been  able  to  get  a  speaker 
to  try  it  since  the  year  of  the  big  fight." 

"  The  big  fight?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  that  was  the  start 

370 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

of  the  whole  thing.  You  see,  the  enemy  is 
mighty  strong  there  in  Shellbark  county,  while 
we're  on  top  in  the  next  county  of  Dodd.  About 
six  years  ago,  in  the  state  campaign,  some  of 
the  Shellbark  boys,  on  the  other  side,  went  into 
Dodd  county  to  hold  a  big  rally. 

"  Party  feeling  was  high  and  a  lot  of  hot 
headed  young  chaps  of  our  persuasion  came 
down  on  the  fold,  used  up  all  the  over-ripe  eggs 
and  potatoes  in  the  neighborhood  and  broke 
up  the  meeting.  Then  the  Shellbark  fellows 
swore  that  if  we  ever  sent  a  speaker  into  their 
territory  they'd  mob  him  on  sight.  They're 
a  mighty  rough  set  there  and  we've  never 
found  a  speaker  yet  who  had  the  nerve  to  go 
up  against  them.  It's  a  bad  place  and  I'd  sug 
gest  that  you'd  better  be  too  sick,  at  the  last 
minute,  to  go.  Better  be  sick  beforehand  than 
dead  afterwards,  you  know." 

Although  the  lad  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about  and  was  tremendously  in  earnest,  I  had 
never  flunked  on  an  assignment  and  finally 
concluded  that  it  was  altogether  too  late  in 
life  to  begin  dodging. 

37T 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Consequently,  I  put  a  pair  of  big-bore  der 
ringers  in  my  overcoat  pocket  and  started  for 
Sugar  Grove.  There  wasn't  any  brass  band  at 
the  station  to  meet  me,  so  far  as  I  noticed,  and 
the  tavern-keeper's  dog  skinned  his  teeth  at 
me  in  a  way  that  wasn't  exactly  friendly. 
However,  the  bills  announcing  my  speech  were 
plastered  over  the  horse  sheds  and  the  front 
of  the  blacksmith  shop  all  right,  and  the  fel 
low  who  had  charge  of  the  hall  said  that  every 
thing  would  be  ready  for  the  doings  at  night« 

I  asked  him  if  he  thought  we  should  have 
a  good  crowd,  and  he  replied  that  he  reckoned 
that  we'd  have  a  crowd  all  right,  but  he  didn't 
say  anything  about  the  quality  of  it. 

There  were  plenty  of  fellows  hanging  about 
the  tavern,  whittling  and  pitching  quoits,  but 
not  one  of  them  ventured  to  make  himself 
sociable  with  me.  By  supper  time  I  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  I  knew  something  of 
the  feelings  of  a  fellow  suddenly  landed  on  a 
desert  island  and  surrounded  by  dusky  natives 
who  were  waiting  for  a  good  chance  to  stick 

372 


There    were  plenty    of  fellows 
hanging  around  the  tavern  whittling. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

him  full  of  spears  and  call  in  their  friends  to 
the  barbecue.  At  last  I  determined  to  get  out 
and  see  if  I  couldn't  shake  off  the  gloom  of  the 
place  by  a  good  brisk  walk  of  a  mile  or  two. 
So  I  struck  into  a  lively  lope  down  the  main 
traveled  road  and  by  the  time  I  reached  the 
wayside  watering  trough  I  was  feeling  a  little 
more  cheerful. 

While  taking  a  drink  from  the  spout  that 
fed  the  trough,  about  a  dozen  big  husky  young 
fellows  on  horseback  drew  up,  jumped  from 
their  saddles  and  allowed  their  horses  to  drink. 
They  paid  no  more  attention  to  me  than  if  I 
had  been  a  grasshopper,  but  put  in  their  time 
drinking  red  liquor  out  of  the  flasks  they  car 
ried  in  their  pockets.  Then  they  mounted  and 
rode  on  into  town. 

Right  then  and  there  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  was  up  against  a  tougher  proposition 
than  I  had  figured  on,  and  that  this  gang  of 
young  ruffians  and  I  would  have  to  try  each 
other  out  before  the  meeting  was  over. 

Before  I  went  from  the  tavern  to  the  town 

375 


TATTLINGS  OF 


hall  I  changed  my  pistols  to  the  pockets  of 
my  undercoat  and  made  up  my  mind  that  what 
ever  happened  I  should  stand  pat  and  give  them 
tit  for  tat. 

The  minute  I  came  out  on  the  platform  I 
saw  that  the  gang  was  planted  in  the  front 
seats  and  that  the  strapping  young  chap  who 
was  evidently  the  leader  had  the  chair  on  the 
aisle  nearest  me.  I  figured  that  about  two 
jumps  would  land  him  on  the  platform,  pro 
vided  he  felt  disposed  to  get  there. 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  do  and  that 
I  did.  Looking  the  young  leader  squarely  in 
the  eyes,  I  fired  my  remarks  straight  at  him — 
and  I  didn't  mince  matters  either.  Now  and 
then  my  hand  strayed  into  my  side  pocket,  I 
confess,  and  touched  up  with  the  derringer, 
just  for  the  sake  of  company. 

Every  minute  I  expected  things  to  break 
loose — but,  to  my  amazement,  there  wasn't  a 
ripple  of  excitement  and  the  whole  meeting 
was  as  quiet  as  a  funeral.  Somehow,  as  I 
wound  up  my  speech  and  stepped  off  the  plat 
form,  I  felt  a  little  bit  of  something  like  dis- 

376 


The  minute  I  came  out  on  the 
platform  I  saw  that  the  gang  was 
planted  in  the  front  seats. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

appointment  at  the  fact  that  the  affair  had 
turned  out  so  tamely. 

But  just  at  that  moment  the  young  fellow 
I  had  been  talking  at  made  towards  me — and 
both  my  hands  slipped  into  my  side  pockets 
again.  He  grinned  quietly,  however,  and  said 
to  me  in  an  undertone: 

"  You're  all  right,  Governor.  Perhaps  you 
didn't  know  it,  but  the  sheriff  was  a  little  afraid 
there  might  be  trouble  up  here  tonight  and 
so  he  sent  a  bunch  of  us  boys  to  take  care  of  you 
if  any  rumpus  broke  out.  This  hain't  the  most 
peaceable  place  on  the  prairies,  and  there  has 
been  a  good  deal  of  bad  blood  here  in  the  past. 
But  I  guess  you've  settled  it  that  your  party 
can  hold  a  political  meeting  in  this  county  if 
it  wants  to,  without  a  killing.  Now  I'll  walk 
over  to  the  train  with  you  and  see  that  you  get 
aboard  all  safe  and  sound.  'Tain't  necessary, 
I  know,  but  I  promised  the  sheriff  I  would." 

Up  to  that  time  I  had  always  had  the  notion 
that  I  could  spot  an  out-and-out  enemy  on 
sight,  whether  I  could  tell  a  friend  at  first  sight 
or  not.  After  that  experience  I  came  to  the 

379 


TATTLINGS  OF 


conclusion  that  snap  judgments  on  human  na 
ture  are  on  a  par  with  snap  caucuses,  and 
that  it  takes  a  little  time  to  try  out  either  a 
friend  or  an  enemy. 

Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


380 


AT  DROP  OF  THE  HAT. 

In  which  William  Bradley  puts  it 
down  as  a  safe  rule  that,  in  politics, 
the  man  who  is  worth  tying  up  with 
will  do  business  at  drop  of  the 
hat  or  not  at  all  and  that  when  a 
man  who  knows  when  to  lay  down 
three  aces  asks  for  time  to  sleep 
over  a  proposition  and  incidentally 
to  consult  a  Few  disinterested  friends 
before  showing  his  hand,  there  is 
trouble  ahead. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
AT   DROP  OF  THE  HAT, 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — ^ 

Dear  Ned:— 

Your  letter  saying  that  the  fellows  who  run 
things  in  the  southern  end  of  the  state  have 
asked  for  more  time  in  which  to  consider  your 
proposition  for  a  combination  of  forces  that 
would  put  you  in  line  for  the  Governorship, 
calls  for  a  little  comment.  You  may  put  it 
down  as  a  safe  rule  that,  in  politics,  the  man 
who  knows  the  game  and  is  worth  tying  up 
with  will  do  business  at  drop  of  the  hat. 

When  a  good,  wide-awake  politician  tells 
you  that  he  wants  to  sleep  over  a  proposition, 
just  put  it  down  that  he  is  simply  playing  you 
for  time  and  intends  to  throw  you  down  at  the 
finish.  No  real  political  leader  will  insist  upon 
submitting  a  prospective  move  to  his  camp 
followers,  his  wife  and  his  attorneys,  and  if 
he  intimates  that  something  of  this  kind  is 
necessary  make  up  your  mind  that  the  fellows 

383 


TATTLINGS  OF 


he  proposes  to  consult  belong  to  the  camp  of 
the  enemy. 

You  hear  a  whole  lot  of  talk  to  the  effect 
that  the  lightning  deciders  are  holding  down 
heavyweight  jobs  in  the  pay  of  big  business 
houses  and  corporations,  but  I  have  never  no 
ticed  any  of  them  who  could  quite  touch  the 
real  politician  on  the  score  of  an  instantaneous 
exposure  of  decision.  His  mental  shutters  are 
ready  to  work  at  the  squeeze  of  the  bulb  and 
when  they  don't  work  that  way  you  may  take 
your  choice  between  two  conclusions:  he  has 
got  a  better  trick  to  play  than  the  one  you 
offer  or  else  he's  suffering  from  a  temporary 
attack  of  political  spring-halt,  politely  called 
conservatism. 

Now  and  then  the  readiest  and  snappiest 
players  of  the  political  game  have  spasms  of 
acute  caution  when  they  crave  the  soothing 
syrup  of  "  consultation."  But  you  can't  take 
this  kind  of  medicine  without  also  taking  time 
to  sleep  off  its  effects,  and  time  is  the  essence 
of  all  political  contracts,  as  well  as  mortgages, 
trust  deeds  and  other  effective  compacts. 

384 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

A  young  political  leader  can't  put  in  his  spare 
minutes  to  better  advantage  than  in  watch 
ing  himself  to  see  that  his  attacks  of  the  colic 
of  conservatism  don't  carry  him  off  his  feet 
at  the  critical  turns  in  his  career.  But  you  may 
depend  upon  it  that  when  a  crisis  is  up  to  him 
and  he  needs  to  meet  it  with  the  ready  blow 
of  instant  decision,  straight  from  the  shoulder, 
he  will  feel  quivers  of  hesitation  centering 
towards  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  and  his  internal 
economy  will  cry  out  for  the  seductive  pre 
scription  of  delay,  advice  and  sympathetic 
council — the  poppy-distilled  potion  that  has 
put  scores  of  good  politicians  to  sleep  at  the 
moment  when  they  might  have  grasped  the 
great  prize  of  life's  ambition. 

Of  course,  you  remember  the  big  fight  that 
landed  Dave  Macey  in  the  United  States  Sen 
ate,  but  you  were  not  so  close  to  the  center  of 
things  that  you  could  see  all  the  hands  that 
were  played  off  before  Dave  finally  managed  to 
tire  out  the  machine  and  make  the  necessary 
number  of  balky  country  members  back  up 
to  his  wagon  and  submit  to  the  Macey  farm 

385 


TATTLINGS  OF 


harness.  As  I  was  one  of  the  organization 
steering  committee  in  that  fight,  I  naturally 
know  a  deal  of  its  inside  history  and  I  promise 
you  it  is  rich  in  chapters  that  would  bear  out 
the  general  title  "  He  might  have  been." 

However,  there  was  one  might-have-been 
whose  history  throws  light  on  the  subject  of 
misplaced  political  hesitation  in  a  way  that 
is  calculated  to  illuminate  the  path  of  any 
young  leader  who  attempts  to  flirt  with  the 
proud  and  prudish  goddess  of  delay. 

Martin  Moore  was  the  machine  candidate 
— one  of  the  old  wheelhorses  of  the  organiza 
tion  who  had  been  marked  for  promotion.  I 
suppose  United  States  Senators  have  been 
made  out  of  timber  a  deal  smaller  than  Mart, 
who  was  a  shrewd,  resourceful  and  shifty  old 
boy  with  that  rugged  sort  of  homeliness  which 
is  a  good  deal  better  than  handsome  looks  in 
catching  the  fancy  of  the  plain  people.  While 
Mart  could  make  a  pretty  fair  talk,  he  was  no 
spellbinder,  and  his  brand  of  campaign  elo 
quence  hadn't  enough  bubbles  in  it  to  enthuse 
a  public  that  had  been  educated  on  campmeet- 

386 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

ing  and  revival  sermons  with  the  real  fireworks 
in  them. 

But  Mart  had  one  strong  point  in  addition 
to  his  masterful  homeliness.  As  a  barefooted 
lad  he  had  driven  canal  boats.  We  started  him 
out  as  the  "tow-path  candidate"  and  expected 
that  this  cry  would  stampede  the  common  peo 
ple  and  land  him  in  the  Senate  without  any 
particular  difficulty.  Sometimes  the  right  sort 
of  a  nickname  will  do  more  to  catch  the  votes 
of  the  masses  than  a  genius  for  statesmanship 
and  a  record  without  a  hole  in  it,  and  often  a 
fortunate  phrase  as  a  campaign  cry  will  get  a 
candidate  a  bigger  crowd  of  followers  than  a 
spotless  life  and  a  righteous  cause. 

However,  the  reform  newspapers  began  to 
hammer  Martin,  and  they  continued  to  pound 
his  tow-path  clean  through  his  career  in  the 
legislature  in  a  way  that  rather  rapped  the 
romance  out  of  our  campaign  cry  and  diverted 
attention  from  the  barefooted  boy  on  the  canal 
boat  to  the  man  who  had  been  mixed  up  with 
a  string  of  legislative  measures  that  had  be 
come  decidedly  unpopular. 

387 


TATTLINGS  OF 


To  make  matters  worse,  the  best  story  teller, 
mixer  and  general  campaigner  in  the  state  de 
cided  to  cut  into  the  game  and  try  to  land 
the  big  prize.  We  accused  him  of  not  having 
enough  dignity  to  keep  from  telling  a  funny 
story  at  a  funeral,  but  somehow  he  continued 
to  make  headway  and  gather  in  a  stray  mem 
ber  now  and  then.  The  other  man  in  the  fight, 
so  far  as  our  party  was  concerned,  was  a  high 
ly  respectable  and  dignified  citizen  who  had 
three  mighty  handy  qualifications — a  barrel, 
no  political  record  and  one  of  those  conserva 
tive  temperaments  that  stand  at  zero  when 
making  love  or  grabbing  off  the  ambition  of  a 
lifetime. 

For  weeks  and  months  every  faction  stood 
its  ground  and  fought  tooth  and  nail  for  each 
inch  of  advantage.  If  ever  a  political  machine 
was  worked  to  the  limit  ours  was  in  that  fight. 
We  took  slack,  sanded  the  track,  threw  the 
throttle  wide  open,  and  still  the  deadlock  re 
fused  to  budge.  In  short,  we  were  stuck. 

When  it  was  clear  that  we  had  reached  the 
absolute  limit  of  our  strength,  and  couldn't 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

pull  another  ounce  with  Martin  as  a  candidate 
he  did  the  square  thing  by  telling  us  to  take 
up  any  other  man  who  could  draw  enough 
votes  from  the  other  candidates  to  save  the 
victory  to  the  organization.  We  hated  to  drop 
him,  for  he  was  a  stayer  of  the  old-fashioned 
sort,  but  there  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  shift 
to  some  fellow  who  could  bring  a  little  strength 
of  his  own  and  pull  enough  votes  from  the 
others  to  elect. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  reached 
the  showdown  stage  of  the  game  and  the  steer 
ing  committee  met  in  secret  session  to  pick 
out  a  new  candidate  who  could  shew  us  the 
way  out  of  the  woods.  After  the  other  fellows 
had  suggested  a  half  dozen  men  who  were 
promptly  put  out  of  the  running  by  arguments 
from  the  assembled  bosses  I  saw  a  light  and 
said: 

"  Boys,  what's  the  matter  with  '  Sugarlips ' 
Sunridge?  He's  strong  with  the  adminis 
tration;  he's  the  father  of  the  Young  Men's 
Republican  League ;  he's  one  of  the  bright  and 
shining  lights  of  the  bar;  the  reform  news- 

389 


TATTLINGS  OF 


papers  have  been  sounding  his  praises  ever 
since  he  first  showed  his  head  in  politics;  there 
isn't  a  man  in  the  state  who  can  fly  the  ora 
torical  kite  with  a  longer  string;  his  lips  drop 
sweetness  on  every  fellow  who  passes  the  time 
of  day  with  him;  he  can  tell  almost  as  good 
a  story  as  the  Insurgent  candidate;  his  dignity 
would  make  a  senatorial  toga  get  right  off  its 
peg  with  delight  at  the  chance  to  fit  his  shoul 
ders,  and " 

"  Look  here !  "  interrupted  the  real  boss. 
"  Just  save  the  rest  for  the  nominating  speech, 
He'll  do  if  he'll  jump  into  the  fight  and  show 
that  he  can  bring  in  some  votes.  But  he's  got 
to  show  us  first — remember  that!  Send  for 
him,  and  have  him  here  before  daylight.  If 
he  don't  get  on  the  ground  and  throw  out  a 
skirmish  line  before  business  opens  up  at  the 
state  house  he'll  be  everlastingly  too  late,  for 
there's  going  to  be  a  break-up  mighty  sudden." 

I  fired  a  telegram  to  Sugarlips  telling  him 
to  catch  the  evening  train  for  the  capital.  Then 
I  sat  down  and  held  a  little  session  with  my 
self.  Better  than  any  one  else  I  knew  that 

390 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

he  had  the  elements  of  strength  which  would 
pull  the  six  votes  required  to  elect  away  from 
the  other  fellows;  in  fact,  I  could  count  up 
the  very  men  he  could  be  depended  upon  to 
draw  into  our  line. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  knew  that  two  or  three 
other  emergency  candidates  had  also  been  sent 
for  by  the  big  boss,  and  that  the  agreement 
among  the  members  of  the  slate-making  de 
partment  to  keep  mum  and  let  the  dark  horses 
strike  out  and  develop  their  own  strength  must 
be  observed  to  the  letter.  Not  one  of  them 
was  to  be  told  the  strength  or  the  weakness  of 
the  organization,  and  each  was  simply  to  be 
given  the  chance  to  strike  out  and  make  a 
showing  on  his  own  responsibility. 

Sunridge  was  my  personal  friend.  We  had 
read  law  in  the  same  office  as  young  men  and 
tried  scores  of  cases  together  later  on.  If  he 
were  elected  I  could  count  on  almost  any  ap 
pointment  I  might  ask  for,  and  could  swing 
an  influence  that  would  put  me  way  ahead  in 
the  race  I  was  running.  And,  besides  all  that, 
I  felt  it  in  my  boots  that  he  was  the  only  dark 


TATTLINGS  OF 


horse  who  could  really  come  in  winner  on  the 
home  stretch. 

You  can  just  bet  that  after  I  had  sat  for 
hours  with  my  heels  on  the  table  figuring  this 
situation  up  one  side  and  down  the  other  I  be 
gan  to  wish  that  I  could  get  behind  the  train 
that  was  bringing  Sunridge  and  do  a  little 
lively  pushing,  for  I  knew  that  every  minute 
before  the  morning  roll  call  was  precious  in  the 
sight  of  the  big  boss  and  meant  heaps  of  things 
to  me. 

At  2  o'clock  in  the  morning  Sunridge  walked 
into  the  hotel  and  I  grabbed  his  grip,  made  a 
dash  for  the  elevator  and  led  him  away  to  a 
high  place  to  show  him  the  kingdoms  of  the 
earth. 

As  he  lighted  a  cigar  I  unrolled  the  situa 
tion  to  him  as  well  as  I  could  under  the  limita 
tions  placed  upon  me. 

"  It's  as  plain  to  me,"  I  said,  "  as  a  red  barn 
on  a  sidehill  that  this  is  your  hour  and  you're 
the  man  for  the  hour.  I  can  promise  you  that 
the  minute  you  show  us  enough  votes  from 
the  other  camps  to  elect  you  with  those  of  the 

392 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 


machine  our  whole  strength  will  go  to  you  in 
a  jiffy.  We'll  make  good  on  the  dot,  and  all 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  show  us  the  margin. 
When  we  used  to  thumb  the  same  copy  of 
Blackstone  in  old  Judge  Bunker's  office  we 
didn't  dream  that  you'd  have  a  seat  in  the 
United  States  Senate  within  your  reach,  and 
that  I'd  be  the  fellow  to  push  it  in  front  of  you, 
did  we?  " 

"  N— o,"  he  answered,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar 
with  the  tip  of  his  stub.  "  But,  Bill,  you  see 
this  is  very  sudden."  Somehow  that  remark 
made  my  enthusiasm  splutter  out  like  the  siz 
zling  cigar  stub  he  dropped  into  the  cuspidor. 

"  So  sudden!  "  I  replied.  "  That's  what  my 
wife  said  when  I  proposed  after  a  courtship 
stringing  over  the  space  of  three  years.  And 
maybe  you  want  another  year  to  consider  it 
in  as  she  did !  " 

"  Not  quite  as  long  as  that,  Bill,"  he  an 
swered,  good  naturedly.  "  But  the  fact  is  I 
must  sleep  over  it.  It's  a  very  important  step 
— very  important — and  you  couldn't  quite  ex- 

393 


TATTLINGS  OF 


pect  me  to  take  it  without  a  little  consultation 
with  my  most  confidential  advisers." 

The  confounded  deliberation  with  which  he 
drawled  this  out  in  his  soothing  syrup  tones 
riled  me  and  I  was  mad  in  a  second — -didn't 
care  much,  for  a  minute,  whether  he  came 
into  the  fight  or  not.  But  later  I  cooled  down 
a  little  and  went  the  length  of  my  rope  in 
painting  his  opportunity  in  the  rosiest  possible 
colors. 

"  Now,  old  man,"  I  said,  slapping  him  on  the 
back,  "  the  thing  for  you  do  do  is  to  rustle  a 
few  of  the  boys  out  of  bed,  get  them  in  line 
and  then  go  down  to  the  desk  and  arrange  for 
opening  your  headquarters  at  day-break  along 
with  the  rest  of  the  dark  horses.  Do  it  and 
you'll  come  in  under  the  wire  and  leave  them 
among  the  *  also-rans/  ' 

"  N — o,"  he  drawled,  "  I'll  see  you  at  break 
fast  and  give  you  my  decision." 

While  he  was  snoring  in  the  next  room  I 
could  hear  the  hoofs  of  the  other  dark  horse 
candidates  going  up  and  down  the  hall  and  the 
voice  of  Happy  Dave,  the  Insurgent,  in  the 

394 


/Jtittfi* 


"Happy  Dave'"1  was  busy  telling 
stories  to  a  bunch  of  country  members. 


Sugarlips  nibbled  his  toast  and 
said  "I  >ve  about  decided  to  make  the 
raff." 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

room  over  my  head  was  busy  telling  stories 
to  a  bunch  of  country  members  who  pounded 
the  floor  with  their  boots  as  he  made  each  point 
in  his  yarns.  I'd  heard  those  stories  so  often 
I  could  tell  which  one  was  being  told  by  the 
way  the  applause  came  in. 

Well,  at  breakfast  Sunridge  nibbled  at  his 
toast  and  said : 

"  I've  about  decided  to  make  the  race,  Bill, 
but  there  are  two  men  I  must  see  before  I  can 
really  jump  into  the  fight.  I  never  take  any 
big  step  without  consulting  them,  and  this  is 
a  case  which  demands  the  soundest  counsel. 
I'll  be  over  to  the  state  house  a  little  later  and 
let  you  know." 

I'll  never  forget  the  expression  on  his  face  as 
he  slipped  down  the  aisle  of  the  House  two 
hours  later  and  stood  beside  my  desk.  The  roll 
call  was  in  progress  and  three  of  the  fellows 
who  had  previously  been  with  old  Stiff-neck, 
the  Conservative,  fell  into  the  Insurgent  band 
wagon.  I  remember  hearing  their  haw-haws 
the  last  thing  before  I  dropped  asleep  about  5 
o'clock  that  morning. 

397 


TATTLINGS  OF 


Of  course,  the  Insurgents  yelled  like  a  lot  of 
Thanksgiving  football  rooters.  Then  came 
the  break.  A  dozen  members  were  on  their 
feet  shouting  for  a  chance  to  change  their  votes 
and  the  fight  was  all  in. 

Sugarlips  stood  there,  his  mouth  partially 
open,  and  his  eyes  bulging.  "  I  had  come- — ah 
— come  to  say  I'd  do  it,"  he  said  in  a  dazed 
way. 

"  Well,"  I  answered,  "  after  you've  slept  over 
it  and  consulted  your  friends,  the  members  of 
your  family  and  a  few  of  your  social  acquaint 
ances,  I'd  be  pleased  to  introduce  you  to  the 
man  who'll  sit,  for  the  next  six  years,  in  the 
seat  in  the  United  States  Senate  that  you  could 
have  had,  at  drop  of  the  hat,  if  you'd  just 
said  '  Yep  '  after  I'd  given  you  the  tip  at  3 130 
this  morning." 

His  infernal  hesitation  put  the  whole  or 
ganization  out  of  business  for  four  years,  and 
all  the  spokes  and  wheels  of  the  machine  we'd 
been  ten  years  in  building  haven't  been  gath 
ered  up  yet;  it  set  me  back  eight  years  on 
the  Governorship  and  smashed  the  political 

398 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

chances  of  a  dozen  of  his  best  friends.  But  it 
taught  him  a  lesson,  for  a  big  corporation  of 
fered  him  a  position  as  general  counsel,  a 
month  later,  and  he  snapped  up  the  tender  be 
fore  the  president  could  reach  for  his  hat. 

Whatever  you  trifle  with,  Ned,  don't  attempt 
to  play  with  the  whirligig  of  Time  in  the  game 
of  politics.  It  will  throw  you  quicker'n  a  green 
broncho.  Remember  the  Scriptures  and  make 
peace  with  the  adversary  quickly,  while  you're 
in  the  way  with  him. 

The  man  who  knows  when  to  lay  down 
three  aces  will  never  ask  the  boys  to  hold  the 
game  open  while  he  sleeps  on  the  proposition 
— and  incidentally  consults  a  few  disinterested 
friends.  Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley. 


399 


THE  GRAFT  AND  THE  GAFF, 

Wherein  William  Bradley  offers 
a  new  commandment  that  "  He  who 
takes  the  graft  shall  also  take  the 
gaff,"  and  tells  the  story  of  Senator 
Soapy,  who  went  after  the  Assistant 
Postmaster  General  and  got  what 
was  coming  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE  GAFF  AND  THE  GRAFT. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch, ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

So  your  short  Washington  experience  has 
already  taught  you  that  men  who  have  ac 
quired  the  habit  of  being  much  closeted  are 
not  always  open  to  the  charge  of  making  many 
prayers — that  is,  of  the  devotional  sort — and 
that  it's  worth  a  new  member's  reputation  for 
common  honesty  and  common  decency  to  be 
seen  in  private  conversation  with  some  of  the 
men  who  hold  down  seats  in  the  House  and 
Senate.  That's  a  good  beginning,  for  in  Con 
gress  a  man  is  known  by  the  company  he 
doesn't  keep. 

While  all  of  the  Ten  Commandments  are 
strictly  pertinent  to  the  modern  politician,  I'd 
like  to  offer  a  rider  to  that  omnibus  bill  on  good 
morals  in  these  words :  "  He  who  takes  the 
graft  shall  also  take  the  gaff." 

It's  a  long  time  since  I  took  a  nip  of  beauty 

403 


TATTLINGS  OF 


sleep  in  a  Senate  cloak  room;  but  there  are 
some  observations  that  came  to  my  eye  there 
that  stick  to  me  like  burrs  in  the  coat  of  an 
Irish  setter,  and  all  of  them  seem  to  be  focused 
in  this  new  commandment.  There  was  one 
incident  in  particular  that  drove  this  home  to 
me  hard. 

The  same  winter  that  gave  me  a  seat  in  the 
Senate  also  elevated  to  that  dignity — and  it  is 
a  dignity,  too — a  dapper  and  oily  gentleman 
who  came  up  from  one  of  the  staid  old  states 
of  the  East.  He  made  his  appearance  in  a  sack 
coat  and  a  pair  of  trousers  that  would  have 
made  a  star  outfit  for  a  wheel  of  fortune  fakir 
at  a  county  fair. 

The  checks  of  that  suit  simply  shouted,  and 
he  wore  the  first  fire-red  necktie,  so  I  was  told, 
that  had  ever  invaded  the  Senate  chamber  on 
the  neck  of  a  member.  The  general  modesty 
of  the  human  landscape  which  he  offered  for 
the  inspection  of  his  distinguished  colleagues 
was  emphasized  by  the  glare  of  a  diamond 
stud  about  the  size  of  a  marrow-fat  pea.  To 
top  it  all,  his  head  was  crowned  with  a  silk 

404 


Senator  Soapy  made  his  appear 
ance  in  a  sack  coat  and  trousers  that 
would  have  made  a  star  outfit  for  a 
fakir. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

hat  fresh  from  the  haberdasher's.  All  in  all, 
his  get-up  was  a  work  of  art  if  its  object  was 
that  of  giving  his  fellow  Senators  a  jolt  that 
almost  threw  them  out  of  their  seats. 

They  took  one  look  at  him,  and  then  the 
frost  line  began  to  circle  around  every  one  of 
them.  He  could  empty  the  cloak  room  on 
sight,  from  that  time  forward,  about  as  quick 
as  if  he  had  the  mange,  so  far  as  the  dignified 
old  wheelhorses  and  the  society  contingent 
were  concerned.  They  gave  him  a  rating,  right 
at  the  start,  that  would  have  put  him  out  of 
business  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  fact  that 
party  lines  were  drawn  desperately  close,  that 
Winter,  on  several  measures  of  immense  im 
portance.  The  atmosphere  that  he  came  into 
that  day  would  have  frozen  the  fins  of  an  Alas 
kan  seal. 

You  know  that  I  have  a  weakness  for  the 
under  dog,  Ned,  and  so  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
give  him  a  friendly  chance,  so  far  as  I  was  con 
cerned.  Then,  too,  every  new  member  is  likely 
to  feel  a  bit  lonesome  and  awkward  when  he 
first  tries  to  live  in  the  high  altitude  of  the 

407 


TATTLINGS  OF 


United  States  Senate.  He  knows  that  it's  up 
to  him  to  look  like  a  statesman  at  work  and 
he  feels  about  as  useless,  isolated  and  misplaced 
as  a  Chinese  image  on  the  marble  center-table 
of  a  farm-house  parlor. 

Naturally  this  community  of  interest  drew 
the  new  members  together  like  a  bunch  of 
yearlings  in  a  first  snowstorm.  Huddling  to 
gether  helped  to  take  off  the  chill  and  make  us 
feel  that  we  weren't  quite  so  much  alone  in  the 
cold  world.  And  when  we  bunched  up  that 
way  we  didn't  ask  for  references  or  pedigrees. 
We  were  willing  to  ask  no  questions  and  to  find 
each  other  out,  gradually. 

But  there  was  one  member  of  the  Awkward 
Squad  who  rose  superior  to  his  surroundings 
in  the  course  of  a  fortnight — and  he  was  Sen- 
ator  Soapy,  as  the  pages  and  clerks  soon  nick 
named  the  new  member  with  checkered 
clothes  and  the  silk  hat.  And  the  boy  who 
gave  him  that  name  had  bought  experience 
handing  up  a  dollar  to  a  traveling  soap-fakir 
whose  wagon  had  invaded  his  home  town. 
Never  was  a  fitter  name  given  to  a  human 

408 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

being  for,  the  minute  that  fellow  was  able  to 
get  the  recognition  of  the  Chair,  he  began 
to  play  the  tricks  of  the  soap  wagon;  and  he 
kept  on  selling  soap  until — well;  I'm  getting 
a  little  ahead  of  my  story! 

Because  I  didn't  give  him  the  full  force  of 
a  Manitoba  wave  and  freeze  him  stiff  the 
minute  he  came  near  me,  Senator  Soapy 
warmed  up  to  me  like  a  brother  in  distress  and 
told  me  the  story  of  his  life,  in  installments. 
He  came,  he  said,  of  poor  but  honest  parents 
and  had  made  his  own  way  since  he  was  big 
enough  to  wear  long  trousers  and  play  with  a 
razor.  There  wasn't  anything  in  the  stand 
ard  obituaries  of  self-made  statesmen  that  had 
been  left  out  of  his  early  struggles  excepting 
nights  of  study  by  the  glare  of  a  pine  knot  fire, 
so  he  confided  to  me. 

Before  he  left  the  district  school  the  fires  of 
oratorical  passion  had  begun  to  burn  in  his 
breast  and  he  was  a  seasoned  spellbinder  at 
sixteen.  He  didn't  say  anything  about  doing 
stunts  at  county  fairs  or  serving  a  long  and 
faithful  apprenticeship  under  the  instruction 

409 


TATTLINGS  OF 


of  an  expert  soap-fakir,  but  he  did  confess  that 
his  first  lucrative  employment  was  in  the  ca 
pacity  of  a  traveling  teacher  of  elocution. 

But,  according  to  his  account,  he  soon  tired 
of  mouthing  the  utterances  of  other  great 
minds  and  decided  to  enter  a  profession  in 
which  he  could  find  full  swing  for  his  oratori 
cal  genius  and  pour  out  his  soul  in  the  tones 
with  which  he  had  clothed  the  thoughts  of 
others,  to  the  delight  of  thousands. 

So  he  settled  down  to  the  study  of  law  in  a 
country  town  and  before  he  had  been  admit 
ted  to  the  bar  he  was  on  the  stump  making 
the  welkin  ring  with  the  noise  of  his  elo 
quence.  From  that  time  forward,  he  assured 
me,  he  had  fought  his  way  steadily  onward 
and  upward  until  his  triumphal  election  to  the 
United  States  Senate. 

While  he  didn't  say  that  he  was  exactly  ex 
pecting  that  the  Presidential  nomination 
would  be  thrust  on  him  in  about  eight  years, 
he  indirectly  intimated  that  a  good  many  re 
pairs  would  have  to  be  made  in  the  White 
House  in  order  to  make  it  thoroughly  habit- 

410 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

able  for  a  man  of  his  sensitive  and  somewhat 
delicate  physique. 

There  was,  however,  one  fly  in  his  ointment 
that  always  bobbed  up  on  the  surface  when 
ever  he  discussed  the  favorite  theme  of  his 
own  hand-made  career.  This  was  an  implac 
able  enemy.  Although  he  seasoned  his  talk 
with  frequent  hints  of  this  mysterious  and  re 
lentless  pursuer  who  had  "  dogged  his  foot 
steps  "  from  the  time  he  made  his  first  run  for 
the  Legislature,  I  noticed  that  Senator  Soapy 
was  careful  not  to  call  names  or  give  me  any 
clew  to  the  identity  of  his  dark  Nemesis.  But 
he  made  it  clear  that  this  fellow  had  the  venge 
ful  malice  of  an  Apache  Indian. 

"  But  I'll  have  his  scalp  before  long,"  the 
Senator  would  chuckle  in  his  sudsy  way. 
"  That's  one  of  the  things  I'm  here  for.  He'll 
get  the  gaff  and  get  it  hard  if  I  don't  turn 
another  trick  while  I'm  here.  You  just  wait 
and  see.  Every  man  who  has  ever  reached 
any  degree  of  achievement,  I  guess,  has  had 
some  envious  dog  snapping  at  his  heels.  Of 
course,  I'm  beyond  his  power  to  harm  and  I 

411 


TATTLINGS  OF 


could  afford  to  ignore  him — but  I'm  human, 
sir,  and  I  propose  to  put  him  where  he  can  no 
longer  nag  me.  I  intend  to  have  my  mind 
clear  for  the  larger  tasks  and  responsibilities 
of  my  position." 

Just  about  this  time  I  happened  to  meet  up 
with  one  of  the  Assistant  Postmaster-Gener 
als — a  tall,  lanky,  raw-boned,  grass-fed  man 
who  made  me  feel  that  he  was  sound  to  the 
core  the  minute  I  grasped  his  hand.  He  was 
as  handsome  as  a  hemlock  slab,  and  you  could 
feel  the  slivers  of  his  aggressive  honesty  at 
first  touch.  Somehow  I  cottoned  to  him  right 
from  the  start  and  whenever  I  got  to  feeling  a 
little  lonesome  for  the  company  of  a  man  who 
looked  at  things  on  my  level,  had  the  smell 
of  the  good  old  country  sod  about  him  and 
hadn't  been  coated  with  Washington  varnish, 
I  would  send  for  Hank  Murray  and  we'd  have 
a  heart-to-heart  talk  at  Harvey's. 

We  didn't  swap  family  secrets  for  a  long 
time.  He  knew  how  to  hold  his  tongue  and  I 
liked  him  better  for  not  giving  up  all  he  knew. 
One  night,  however,  we  touched  up  a  little 

412 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

closer  than  ever  and  finally,  in  his  shy,  awk 
ward  way  he  said : 

"  I've  had  something  on  my  mind  a  long 
time,  Senator,  and  I  guess  I'm  close  enough 
to  you  now,  to  speak  out  in  meeting." 

"  Sure,"  I  replied,  "  spit  it  right  out." 

"  Well,  I'll  do  it,"  he  replied,  putting  down 
his  knife  and  fork  and  looking  me  square  in 
the  eye.  "  You've  been  in  Washington  long 
enough  to  know  that  one  of  the  chief  branches 
of  business  here  is  knocking;  scandal  is  a  fine 
art  in  these  parts  and  the  *  poison  of  asps,'  as 
the  Scriptures  say,  is  one  of  the  principal  circu 
lating  mediums.  I've  made  it  a  rule  to  keep 
my  mouth  shut  along  those  lines,  but  tonight 
I'm  going  to  break  over  and  make  an  excep 
tion. 

"  I've  noticed  that  you  train  a  good  deal 
with  Senator  Soapy — and,  what's  worse,  I've 
heard  some  of  the  best  men  here  comment  on 
that  fact.  He's  a  grafter  from  way  back — 
I  know  what  I'm  talking  about — and  you're 
getting  tarred  with  his  stick,  in  the  minds  of 
some  mighty  good  men  who  wouldn't  be  seen 

413 


TATTLINGS  OF 


in  private  talk  with  him,  just  by  the  mere 
fact  of  your  association  with  him.  I  know 
you're  not  his  kind  and  I  don't  want  to  see  you 
handicap  yourself  with  a  reputation  for  inti 
macy  with  him." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  him?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  know  all  about  him,"  replied  Hank,  rap 
ping  the  table  with  his  fist.  "  I've  fought  him 
in  his  own  district  from  the  time  he  made  his 
first  stump  speech — fought  him  because  he 
was  as  crooked  and  slippery  as  a  water  snake. 
He's  spent  the  best  part  of  his  life  since  he  be 
gan  to  read  law  trying  to  kill  me  out  because 
I  couldn't  be  scared  or  bought  into  silence  on 
the  subject  of  his  grafting. 

"  I  came  into  his  district  and  bought  a  coun 
try  newspaper  about  the  time  he  showed  his 
head  above  the  political  waters  and  began  to 
wriggle  his  way  toward  a  seat  in  the  Legisla 
ture.  Before  I'd  been  in  the  place  two  months 
I  caught  him,  red  handed  in  a  nasty  piece  of 
graft  that  turned  my  stomach.  Of  course, 
I  said  things  in  my  paper  and  washed  out  a 
few  articles  of  party  linen  in  the  editorial  col- 

414 


"/  came  into  his  district  and 
bought  a  country  newspaper  about  the 
time  he  showed  his  head  above  the 
political  waters" 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

umns.  That  started  the  fight,  and  it's  been 
going  ever  since. 

"  But  he  was  as  slick  as  he  was  slimy  and  I 
couldn't  always  head  him  off.  He  finally 
landed  in  the  Legislature  and  there  he  turned 
some  tricks  to  make  a  square  politician 
ashamed  of  his  race.  Later  we  locked  horns 
for  the  Congressional  nomination;  he  cap 
tured  it,  but  was  snowed  under  at  the  polls. 
In  fact,  the  whole  state  went  against  us.  He 
became  the  leader  of  one  faction  in  the  state 
and  I  flocked  with  the  other.  When  we  went 
into  the  Presidential  campaign  a  sort  of  truce 
was  patched  up  and  I  was  made  Secretary  of 
the  State  Central  Committee.  The  fight  was 
a  stiff  one  but  by  hard  plugging  we  won  out. 

"  Of  course  that  cut  a  considerable  figure  in 
the  general  result  and  the  President  indicated 
that  he'd  like  to  do  the  handsome  thing  by  us. 
The  leaders  of  our  side  went  on  to  Washington 
and  had  a  talk  with  him.  They  told  him  that 
I  wasn't  much  good  in  the  log-rolling  branch 
of  politics  but  I  couldn't  be  scared  or  bought ; 
that  I  was  too  square-toed  to  make  much  head- 

417 


TATTLINGS  OF 


way  for  an  elective  position — in  short,  that  I 
was  just  a  plodder  without  any  streak  of  graft 
in  me.  The  President  said  that  he  was  look 
ing  for  just  that  stripe  of  a  man  for  a  certain 
place — and  that's  how  I  came  to  be  appointed 
to  this  position." 

"  But,"  I  interrupted,  "  didn't  Soapy  make 
a  fight  against  your  appointment?  " 

"Oh!  yes;  a  little  one,  just  to  save  the 
point,"  answered  Hank.  "  But  he  was  glad  to 
have  me  taken  out  of  the  state  so  I'd  be  less  in 
his  way.  He  had  some  dirty  schemes  he 
wanted  to  work  when  I  couldn't  be  there  to 
watch  him.  And  he  worked  'em,  too ! 

"  Then  came  the  Senatorial  fight.  All  my 
life  IVe  preached  against  offensive  partisan 
ship  and  insisted  that  the  men  on  the  govern 
ment  payroll,  especially  in  the  Departments 
here  in  Washington,  ought  to  stick  to  their 
desks  and  tend  to  their  knitting  instead  of 
riding  the  country  in  the  interests  of  politics. 
So,  you  see,  he  rather  had  my  hands  tied  on  the 
score  of  offensive  partisanship  and  there  was 

418 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

nothing  for  me  to  do  but  stay  here  and  let  the 
other  boys  make  the  fight  against  him. 

"  But  he  played  the  soap  trick  to  the  limit 
and  finally  landed — by  the  help  of  every  big 
corporation  doing  business  in  our  state.  But 
he  can't  last  for  he  can't  pass  up  the  chance  to 
make  a  petty  graft — and  men  who  are  after 
small  graft  invariably  get  careless  and  sooner 
or  later  play  themselves  into  the  hands  of  jus 
tice.  All  this  and  much  more  to  the  same 
point  has  made  me  break  over  and  warn  you 
against  Senator  Soapy." 

Right  after  that  talk  with  Hank,  I  met  the 
Senator  at  the  White  House,  waiting  for  an 
interview  with  the  President.  He  buckled  his 
arm  through  mine  and  said : 

"  We'll*  go  in  together — nothing  private  in 
what  I  want  to  see  His  Excellency  about." 

His  Excellency! — that  was  just  like  Sena 
tor  Soapy.  He  would  have  licked  the  Presi 
dent's  boots  in  the  presence  of  witnesses  if 
he'd  been  given  half  a  chance.  His  toadying 
in  this  direction  later  made  him  the  laughing 
stock  of  Washington.  But  to  get  back  to  my 

419 


TATTLINGS  OF 


story!  We  went  in  together  and  after  Soapy 
had  slobbered  over  the  President  a  little  he 
came  to  the  point  with  the  remark: 

"I've  come,  sir,  to  call  your  Excellency's 
attention  to  a  man  by  the  name  of  Hanky  Mur 
ray  now  holding  a  position  as  one  of  the  Post 
master-General's  assistants." 

"  Senator,"  interrupted  the  President,  "  I'm 
always  delighted  to  have  my  attention  called 
to  this  man.  If  your  state  has  any  more  such 
men  I  will  thank  you  to  present  their  names. 
The  public  service  needs  more  like  him.  It 
would  be  a  personal  gratification  to  me  to  ad 
vance  him  to  a  still  higher  position,  but  that 
is  impossible  just  now.  Besides,  his  rugged 
honesty  and  his  plodding  faithfulness  are  espe 
cially  needed  in  the  difficult  place  he  now  fills. 
Personally,  I  lean  upon  him  heavily,  for  his 
loyalty  and  judgment  save  me  from  many 
complications  and  mistakes  in  the  matter  of 
appointments  in  the  post  office  service." 

That  was  the  neatest  blow  from  a  gloved 
hand  I  ever  saw  given  in  high  places.  Soapy 
had  come  to  knock  his  enemy  out  of  official 

420 


Senator  So&py  sees  the  President 

regarding  the  A  tsistant    Postmaster 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

and  political  life  and  the  President  had  taken 
the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  put  forward  the 
presumption  that  the  Senator  had  called  to 
ask  for  a  promotion  for  him  instead.  Of 
course,  Soapy  was  not  fool  enough  to  make 
any  reply  to  the  President  beyond  a  muttered 
"  Thank  you,  sir."  I  remained  and  as  the 
Senator  went  out  of  the  room  I  caught  a  gleam 
in  the  tail  of  the  President's  eye  that  showed 
he  had  been  loaded  for  his  caller  and  had  given 
him  this  shot  with  malice  aforethought. 

After  that  Soapy  and  I  didn't  spend  much 
time  hanging  over  the  garden  gate  together 
and  the  temperature  of  our  relationship 
dropped  to  the  zero  point — and  below.  And 
by  the  same  token,  my  friendship  with  Hank 
grew  and  flourished  until  we  were  as  thick  as 
two  schoolgirls  in  the  throes  of  a  first  femi 
nine  affinity.  When  the  new  President  was 
elected  and  took  hold  of  the  plow  handles 
Hank  said  to  me: 

"  The  first  thing  Soapy  will  ask  of  him  will 
be  my  discharge.  That  was  why  he  did  such 
hard  work  in  the  campaign  and  never  lost  an 

423 


TATTLINGS  OF 


opportunity  to  crowd  himself  into  the  pres 
ence  of  the  chief  candidate.  He  thinks  his 
eloquence  and  activity  have  made  him  so  solid 
with  the  President  that  he  can  yank  me  out  of 
my  place  on  first  call — and  maybe  he  can." 

Before  the  cabinet  officers  had  warmed  their 
chairs,  Senator  Soapy  was  on  hand  to  pour  his 
poison  into  the  ears  of  the  new  President. 
But  it  so  happened  that  a  private  friend  of  the 
Chief  Executive  had  given  him  a  straight  line 
on  the  two  men — and  the  word  of  that  friend 
outweighed,  with  the  President,  miles  of  pre 
ferred  charges  and  tons  of  Senatorial  pull.  I 
have  it  on  inside  authority  that  the  setback 
the  President  gave  Senator  Soapy  in  that  in 
terview  was  something  to  shame  a  goat. 

The  Assistant  Postmaster  General  stayed 
in  his  place  and  was  made  to  feel  that  he  had 
the  confidence  of  the  administration.  With 
this  backing  he  quietly  plodded  ahead  and  soon 
turned  up  some  big  frauds  in  the  department 
that  put  a  few  fellows  who  had  cut  a  wide 
swath  in  Department  affairs  behind  the  bars. 
While  this  made  a  big  mess  in  politics  it  put 

424 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

Hank's  stock  way  up  and  made  him  so  solid 
with  the  President  that  a  load  of  dynamite 
couldn't  have  dislodged  him. 

About  the  time  this  rumpus  began  to  quiet 
down  a  little,  one  of  the  head  inspectors,  who 
came  from  the  Senator's  state,  dropped  into 
Hank's  private  office,  closed  the  door  and 
said: 

"  There's  something  doing,  now,  sure.  Last 
night  Senator  Soapy  came  to  my  room  and 
made  a — well;  I'd  call  it  a  straight  proposi 
tion." 

You  can  bet  the  Assistant  Postmaster  Gen 
eral  pricked  up  his  ears  at  that  and  asked  for 
a  full  bill  of  particulars. 

"  He  said,"  continued  the  inspector,  "  that 
some  mighty  good  friends  of  his  were  inter 
ested  in  financing  a  large  industrial  enterprise 
which  had  just  been  ruled  out  of  the  use  of  the 
mails  by  a  Department  order." 

"  A  get-rich-quick-scheme? "  interrupted 
Hank. 

"Yes;  and  a  rank  one,  too!  Then  he  ex 
plained  that  they  were  good  fellows,  that  he 

425 


TATTLINGS  OF 


was  deeply  interested  in  their  welfare  and  that 
it  would  be  worth  a  great  deal  to  him  if  the  in 
spector's  report  on  the  matter  would  be  of  a 
character  that  would  lift  the  embargo  against 
them  and  give  them  the  use  of  the  mails  again. 
Incidentally  he  hinted  that  he  could  do  a  great 
deal  for  me.  I  told  him  I'd  consider  it." 

"  Did  he  say  whether  he  made  the  request 
as  a  United  States  Senator  or  as  an  attorney?  " 
inquired  the  Assistant  Postmaster  General. 

"  No,  not  in  so  many  words." 

"  Well,"  returned  Hank,  rubbing  his  square 
rigged  under  jaw  with  his  hand. 

"  You  go  back  to  him,  get  him  to  commit 
himself  on  that  point.  And  have  a  man  who 
knows  him  hid  somewhere  in  your  room  as  a 
witness." 

Two  days  later  the  inspector  returned,  ac 
companied  by  his  deputy. 

"  He  said  that  he  made  the  request  as  the 
attorney  of  the  men — and  this  man  saw  him 
and  heard  him  make  the  statement." 

"  That's  all,"  said  the  Assistant  Postmaster 
426 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

General.     "And  it's  good  for  a  term  in  the 
penitentiary ! " 

The  Federal  grand  jury  did  its  work  all  right 
and  the  gaff  that  Soapy,  the  King  of  Grafters, 
had  prepared  for  quiet,  honest  Hank  Murray 
landed  right  under  his  own  liver  and  there  was 
an  empty  chair  in  the  Senate  and  a  well-filled 
cell  in  a  certain  penitentiary.  If  he's  out  now, 
I'll  bet  that  his  experience  with  the  kind  of 
striped  clothes  that  are  fashionable  in  prisons 
has  spoiled  Soapy's  taste  for  loud-checked 
garments ! 

And  so,  again,  I  say  unto  you :  "  He  who 
takes  the  graft  shall  also  take  the  gaff!"  I 
never  think  of  either  of  those  political  perqui 
sites  without  reverting  to  the  history  of  Sen 
ator  Soapy! 

Regards  to  the  wife,  Ned,  and  long  life  to 
both  of  you. 

Ever  yours, 

William  Bradley. 


427 


FLIRTING  WITH  THE 
FIXER. 

Wherein  William  Bradley  tells 
a  few  tales  out  of  school  about 
the  underground  work  of  Cap 
tains  of  Industry  in  the  field  of 
official  corruption  and  illustrates 
the  stages  by  which  a  business 
man  descends  from  maidenly  shy 
ness  to  brazen  recklessness  in 
the  art  of  "  fixing." 


CHAPTER  XX. 
FLIRTING  WITH  THE  FIXER 

Brokenstraw  Ranch,  — ,  19—. 
Dear  Ned:— 

I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at  what  you  tell  me 
about  the  attempt  of  the  corporation  president 
to  reach  you  and  head  off  your  restrictive  legis 
lation,  or  at  the  brazen  way  in  which  he  went 
about  the  job.  When  a  Captain  of  Industry 
starts,  in  at  the  fixing  business  he's  as  shy  as  an 
unkissed  school  girl  in  her  first  flirtation;  but 
after  he's  become  a  little  seasoned  in  the  art 
of  subverting  official  honesty  he  gets  to  be  as 
brazen  as  the  queen  of  a  Dawson  City  dance 
hall. 

It  always  riled  me  to  see  the  reformers  get 
out  after  a  bunch  of  petty  go-betweens  and 
make  more  noise  than  an  old-fashioned  town 
ship  wolf  hunt  in  full  swing — only  to  pull  off 
the  dogs  and  call  a  halt  when  the  trail  led  right 
up  to  the  door  of  some  prominent  Captain  of 
Industry  who  was  too  good  to  have  anything 

43* 


TATTLINGS  OF 


to  do  with  politics.  But  if  they  could  run  down 
an  insignificant  fixer  and  land  him  it  was  a 
great  moral  victory  that  called  for  fireworks 
and  the  election  of  the  prosecuting  officers  to 
some  fat  office,  as  a  reward  of  merit. 

The  stages  by  which  a  fairly  square  busi 
ness  man  descends  to  the  moral  plane  of  buy 
ing  men  right  and  left  without  a  twinge  of  con 
science,  or  consideration  of  anything  but  the 
price,  are  not  generally  known,  I  always 
wanted  to  take  the  lid  off  and  look  into  the 
mental  machinery  of  a  man  who  had  gone 
down  that  kind  of  a  moral  toboggan  slide ;  and 
finally  the  chance  came  to  me  in  a  curious  way. 
For  six  or  eight  years  one  of  the  slickest  lobby 
ists  that  ever  attended  a  session  was  hanging 
around  the  legislature.  He  was  a  mighty  lik 
able  chap  and  had  a  way  with  him  that  got 
right  in  under  your  vest.  But  for  all  the  fact 
that  I  cottoned  to  him  from  the  start,  I  tried  to 
land  him  and,  session  after  session,  had  him 
watched  and  shadowed.  But  he  was  too  cun 
ning  for  me  and  sprung  every  trap  I  set  for 

432 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

him  without  leaving  so  much  as  a  hair  behind 
to  tell  the  story. 

Then,  he  suddenly  disappeared  from  the  face 
of  the  earth  and  I  didnt'  see  a  thing  of  him  for 
years.  In  fact,  I  had  almost  forgotten  him 
when,  at  the  close  of  a  campaign  speech,  in  a 
Western  town,  he  pushed  through  the  crowd 
and  shook  hands  with  me. 

"  I've  got  a  whole  lot  to  tell  you,  Governor," 
he  said,  "  and  I  want  you  to  come  up  to  the 
house,  meet  my  wife  and  stay  all  night." 

I  was  a  little  lonesome  and  the  idea  of  spend 
ing  the  evening  in  a  home  instead  of  a  hotel 
just  fitted  into  my  mood,  so  I  accepted.  His 
wife  was  a  mighty  sweet  and  comfortable  little 
body  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  wor 
shipped  the  ground  Jim  walked  on. 

When  she  went  upstairs  to  put  the  children 
to  bed,  Jim  and  I  repaired  to  the  library, 
lighted  up,  and  settled  down  to  a  regular  heart- 
to-heart  session.  We'd  never  been  intimate 
in  the  old  days,  but  somehow  he  warmed  up  to 
me  that  night  as  if  we'd  been  college  chums. 

"  Governor,"  said  Jim,  "  I'm  mighty  glad  to 

433 


TATTLINGS  OF 


have  this  chance  to  tell  you  some  things  that 
may  make  you  think  a  little  differently  of  me 
than  you  used  to.  You  led  me  a  lively  dance 
when  I  was  in  the  fixing  business  and  I  was 
busier  dodging  your  shots  than  a  lame  rabbit 
chased  by  a  pack  of  beagles  in  full  cry. 

"  But  now  I'm  out  of  all  that  kind  of  game — 
and  out  for  good.  What  did  it?  The  little 
woman!  When  I  met  her  and  got  a  line  on  her 
way  of  looking  at  things  I  saw  a  great  light 
and  dropped  the  whole  business  like  a  hot 
potato.  Not  that  I  didn't  always  hate  it — I 
despised  it.  But  I  was  born  into  it.  My  first 
job  was  as  a  page  for  a  shifty  old  Senator  who 
made  a  pet  of  me.  Before  I  was  fifteen  all  the 
dirty  tricks  of  official  life  were  commonplaces 
to  me  and  I  lived  in  an  atmosphere  that  made 
me  feel  that  the  only  question  about  such  tricks 
was  whether  they  were  done  in  a  smooth  or  a 
bungling  way.  And  as  soon  as  the  men  about 
me  found  out  that  I  was  up  to  snuff  and  as 
clever  as  any  of  the  old  hands  at  the  game,  I 
was  pushed  to  the  front  fast. 

"  Because    I    was    young    and    everybody 

434 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

seemed  to  take  to  me,  the  capitalists  who  had 
dirty  work  to  do  put  the  business  up  to  me  as 
swift  as  I  could  take  care  of  it.  Sometimes 
the  jobs  were  pretty  rank  and  I  rebelled. 
Then  they  would  simply  put  it  cold  that  my 
hands  were  already  dirty  and  that  they  could 
make  it  mighty  hot  for  me.  In  other  words, 
they  had  me;  they  knew  it  and  I  knew  it,  and 
they  put  the  screws  to  me  until  I  was  ready  to 
do  anything  they  demanded. 

"  But  you  can  bet  on  one  thing,  Governor — 
that  I  despised  every  psalm-singing  hypocrite 
in  the  whole  bunch  of  'em.  The  boodle  busi 
ness  starts  right  at  the  doors  of  the  Captains 
of  Industry,  and  those  who  are  the  loudest  in 
howling  for  morality  and  reform  are  the  mean 
est  in  the  bunch.  If  men  of  their  stripe  didn't 
set  out  to  get  things  fixed  there  would  be 
precious  little  boodling  and  the  professional 
fixer  would  be  out  of  a  job." 

"  Did  you  ever  have  a  good  chance,  Jim,"  I 
asked,  "  to  watch  the  way  in  which  a  capitalist 
starts  into  this  game  and  develops  as  he  goes 
along?  " 

435 


TATTLINGS  OF 


6  You  bet  I  have!  "  he  answered.  "  And  it's 
funny  how  they  change  their  tactics  as  they  get 
seasoned  to  the  game.  There  was  old  Donald 
McNeil — worth  a  million  and  as  canny  a 
Scotchman  as  ever  sung  a  psalm.  He  sent  for 
me  to  come  to  his  house  at  eleven  o'clock  and 
'  rap  lightly  on  the  glass  of  the  front  door.'  I 
did  so,  and  he  let  me  in  himself.  Evidently,  all 
the  other  members  of  the  family  were  in  bed. 
Then  he  spent  fifteen  minutes  preaching  about 
the  awful  depravity  of  the  gang  of  office 
holders  that  compelled  respectable  business 
men  to  resort  to  such  '  doubtful  means  '  to  pro 
tect  their  interests.  Then  he  haggled  about 
the  price — a  petty  $300 — thought  $200  ought 
to  more  than  satisfy  the  '  public  leeches.' 

"  Naturally  I  expected  him  to  hand  out  the 
currency  and  finish  the  matter  up.  No,  sir-ee ! 
He  put  his  voice  way  down  and  confided  to  me 
that  if  I  would  go  into  the  writing  room  of  a 
certain  hotel,  the  next  day  at  sharp  noon,  I'd 
see  a  man,  at  the  desk,  wearing  a  speckled  car 
nation.  I  was  to  wear  one  of  the  same  breed. 
The  man  would  probably  get  up  and  go  as  I 

436 


The  "go-between"  and  the  "fix. 
er"  at  once  recognized  each  other  by 
heir  carnations. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

came  in  and  I  was  to  take  the  place  he  vacated 
at  the  desk  and  look  under  the  blotter  for  an 
envelope.  There  was  a  scheme  that,  as  a  non 
conductor  of  incriminating  evidence,  was 
worthy  of  a  sophomore  detective,  and  I'll  bet  it 
had  taken  Old  Don  a  week  to  figure  it  out. 
In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  mighty  ner 
vous  when  he  whispered  the  plan  to  me,  the 
faint  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  finished  his  direc 
tions  told  me  that  he  thought  it  was  about  as 
cunning  a  scheme  as  was  ever  hatched. 

*  Well,  it  went  through  like  clockwork ;  the 
carnation  man  was  there  at  the  writing  table, 
took  a  look  at  my  speckled  posey  and  then  got 
up  and  left.  I  dropped  into  his  seat,  picked  up 
the  envelope  from  under  the  blotter  and  then 
went  to  deliver  the  goods. 

"  A  few  months  later  I  received  a  telephone 
call  from  Old  Don  asking  me  to  meet  him  the 
next  Sunday,  in  the  park,  at  a  certain  hour.  He 
was  on  hand  and  we  took  a  walk  into  the  open 
where  there  could  be  no  eavesdroppers.  This 
time  he  didn't  waste  any  breath  in  sermonizing 
about  corrupt  office  holders,  but  plunged 

439 


TATTLINGS  OF 


straight  at  the  business  in  hand.  I  told  him 
how  much  it  would  cost — a  thousand  dollars — 
to  fix  things  up  as  he  wanted  them.  After 
kicking  on  the  price  a  little  he  finally  admitted 
that  the  amount  was  just  what  he  had  figured 
on.  Then  he  suddenly  switched  the  subject, 
pointed  to  a  distant  tree  and  asked  me  if  I  could 
tell  what  kind  it  was.  A  minute  later  he  said 
he  must  go  and  started  away.  I  said  I'd  walk 
back  to  the  cars  with  him  when  he  incidentally 
remarked:  'Didn't  you  drop  something?' 

"  On  the  ground  was  a  long  manila  envelope 
and  I  was  just  about  to  spear  it  with  my  cane 
when  he  remarked :  '  Oh !  I  wouldn't  do  that.' 

"  Of  course,  I  tumbled  then  and  picked  up 
the  envelope  that  he  had  dropped  while  I  was 
looking  at  the  scenery.  This  was  a  little  bolder 
step,  and  I  wondered  how  long  it  would  take 
for  the  old  capitalist  to  get  actually  careless. 

"  Not  more  than  three  months  later,  my  tele 
phone  rang  and  old  Don's  voice  called :  '  Come 
over  to  my  office  right  away.'  I  went  and 
found  my  cunning,  cautious  old  Captain  of  In 
dustry  in  a  howling  rage.  He  used  a  good  deal 

440 


While  directing  the  "fixer's" 
attention  to  the  beauties  of  the  land 
scape,  the  capitalist  dropped  a  long 
envelope. 


The  capitalist  brazenly  counted 
out  the  boodle  without  closing  'he 
door. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

of  language  detached  at  random  from  the 
scriptures.  After  he  once  got  it  into  his  head 
that  the  only  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  put 
up  and  put  up  heavy,  and  that  it  would  take 
at  least  fifteen  thousand  dollars  to  grease  the 
deal  that  he  had  in  hand,  old  Don  went  to  the 
vault,  brought  out  several  packages,  broke  the 
seals  and  counted  out  the  money  in  bills  of  big 
denominations.  As  he  lifted  the  last  bill  he 
exclaimed :  *  Well  here  goes  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  to  hell — and,  damn  their  hides,  I'll 
never  give  them  another  cent ! ' 

"  '  No  so  loud! '  I  interrupted.  '  You  don't 
seem  to  be  quite  as  careful  as  you  were  at  the 
start.  In  fact,  I'd  call  it  just  a  trifle  reckless — 
the  way  you're  carrying  on  today,  leaving 
your  office  door  wide  open  and  handing  out  the 
goods  in  plain  sight.  Better  use  a  little  of  the 
caution  that  you  were  so  lavish  with  in  the 
beginning/ 

"'The  infernal  pirates!'  was  all  he  an 
swered,  as  he  fished  around  and  found  a  shoe 
box  for  me  to  carry  the  money  in. 

"  But  it  occurred  to  me  that,  while  all  of  us 

443 


TATTLINGS  OF 


concerned  in  the  dirty  mess  were  pirates  all 
right,  he  was  not  only  the  captain  of  the  crew 
but  the  chief  enlisting  officer.  And  if  I've  been 
on  the  inside  of  one  such  deal  I  have  in  a  hun 
dred  of  'em.  There  are  plenty  of  clean  men  at 
the  head  of  big  businesses,  as  there  are  lots 
of  clean  men  in  politics — but  I'll  tell  you,  Gov 
ernor,  that  these  reformers  will  never  bring 
the  real  forces  of  corruption  to  terms  until  they 
train  their  guns  on  the  Captains  of  Industry 
and  quit  throwing  away  their  shells  on  the 
smaller  fry  who  are  simply  the  errand  boys 
of  the  capitalists." 

Jim  said  a  whole  lot  besides  this  before  we 
broke  camp  and  went  to  bed  that  night;  but 
the  best  thing  about  it  came  out  when  the  little 
woman  joined  us  in  the  library  and  Jim  inci 
dentally  took  hold  of  her  hand  and  said : 

"  She  knows  all  about  it,  Governor;  I  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it  before  we  were  married. 
And  she  didn't  have  to  do  any  private  preach 
ing  or  special  exhorting  to  convert  me  to  her 
way  of  looking  at  the  business,  either.  My 
moral  senses  had  been  stunted  in  the  atmos- 

444 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

phere  which  I'd  breathed  from  a  boy  up  and  I 
could  justify  every  trick  I'd  ever  turned  by  a 
mighty  handy  and  plausible  line  of  philosophy 
— that  is,  I  could  until  I  began  to  get  in  touch 
with  her  conscience.  Then  my  moral  eyes  be 
gan  to  open  and  the  rottenness  of  the  whole 
thing  stood  out  before  me  so  I  could  really 
sense  it.  In  fact,  I  could  almost  taste  it. 
Right  there  I  threw  it  up,  took  to  plain  busi 
ness  and  married  the  girl.  I  haven't  made 
more  than  a  quarter  the  money  I  used  to  when 
I  was  single  and  serving  under  the  Black  Flag 
— but  I've  kept  in  the  straight  and  narrow  path 
and  I  never  knew  before  what  it  meant  to  be 


a  man." 


The  wife  gave  his  hand  a  little  squeeze  and 
I  thought  I  could  see  signs  of  mist  in  her  eyes. 

"  Did  you  have  any  of  the  money  left  over 
from  the  old  chapter  to  begin  the  new  one 
on?  "I  asked. 

"I  should  say  not!  That  kind  of  money 
doesn't  stick.  If  any  one  tells  you  that  there 
isn't  any  difference  in  money,  don't  you  believe 
it,  Governor.  There's  just  as  much  difference 

445 


TATTLINGS  OF 


in  money  as  in  folks.  I  didn't  believe  that 
once,  but  I  know  it  now.  You  may  put  bad 
money — I  mean  money  that  comes  in  a  crooked 
way — in  a  burglar  proof  safe  and  it'll  get  away. 
Mary  and  I  Ve  seen  some  rather  tough  times 
scraping  along,  but  all  the  money  that  we  have 
had  has  been  clean." 

While  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  feel  with 
Jim,  that  about  nine-tenths  of  the  moral  re 
sponsibility  for  a  corruption  deal  should  be 
assessed  to  the  capitalist  as  against  one-tenth 
to  the  fixer  and  the  one  fixed,  I  tell  you,  Ned} 
the  boy  is  right  in  shouldering  the  heft  of  the 
blame  upon  the  Captain  of  Industry  who  is 
bound  to  have  his  taxes  reduced,  his  "  inter 
ests  protected,"  and  his  net  income  increased 
no  matter  how  many  men  he  has  to  bribe  to  ac 
complish  his  purpose.  When  your  fighting 
blood  is  up  and  you  want  to  get  out  after  big 
game  these  suggestions  may  be  of  service  in 
pointing  the  way  to  something  that  is  prac 
tical  and  will  hit  the  "  great  gilded  God  of 
Corruption  "  (as  old  Cal  Peavey  used  to  say) 
right  where  he  lives. 

446 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

I'm  glad  that  Kate  doesn't  like  Washington 
life  first  rate.  It  shows  she's  made  of  good 
sensible  stuff  instead  of  being  filled  with  the 
kind  of  sawdust  that  goes  into  the  regulation 
society  doll.  Give  her  my  best  regards. 
Yours  faithfully, 

William  Bradley. 


447 


KISSING  BY  FAVOR. 

In  which  Ned  is  told  several 
stories  to  show  that  a  whole  lot 
of  well-meaning  reformers  fire 
their  guns  at  half-cock  because 
they  can't  get  it  through  their 
systems  that  kissing  goes  by  fa 
vor—especially  in  political  life— 
and  that  the  system  of  reciprocal 
backscratching  has  put  through 
more  doubtful  legislation  than  was 
ever  paid  for  in  the  coin  of  the 
realm. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
KISSING  BY  FAVOR. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch,  ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

And  so  your  committee  appointed  to  investi 
gate  the  shocking  irregularities  of  your  dis 
tinguished  colleague  from  the  old  state  has 
ordered  a  new  whitewash  brush  and  is  going 
to  bring  in  a  report  to  the  effect  that  it  finds 
nothing  beyond  the  regulation  exchange  of 
legislative  back  scratching — and  that  always 
has  been  and  always  will  be  a  stock  article  in 
the  assortment  of  Congressional  courtesies. 
To  be  sure,  it's  considerably  shelf-worn  and  a 
trifle  damaged,  but  there'll  never  be  a  time 
when  it  will  fail  to  pass  as  current  coin  on  the 
floor  of  any  House. 

A  whole  lot  of  well-meaning  reformers  fire 
their  guns  at  half-cock  because  they  can't  get 
it  into  their  systems  that  kissing  goes  by  favor. 
Unless  human  nature  has  changed  a  good  deal 
from  what  it  v/as  in  the  days  when  I  used  to 

45 1 


TATTLINGS  OF 


occupy  a  bench  in  the  old  school  house  of  Dis 
trict  No.  10,  alongside  Kitty  Nolan  and  the 
red-headed  Crane  girl,  the  same  rule  holds 
good  today  and  has  fewer  exceptions  than  al 
most  any  other  rule  in  existence. 

The  reason  why  the  reformers  and  real  in 
vestigating  committees  strike  so  many  false 
leads  and  blind  trails  is  because  they  forget 
this  interesting  fact  of  human  nature  and  set 
it  down  that  every  kiss  is  marked  in  plain  fig 
ures  and  is  settled  for  in  cold  coin  or  its  equiva 
lent  in  listed  securities. 

I'll  never  forget  a  little  experience  I  had 
along  this  line,  myself,  in  the  days  when  I  was 
decidedly  inexperienced  in  the  devious  paths 
of  legislation.  It  was  in  my  first  term  in  the 
House,  back  in  the  old  state.  The  leader  of 
the  House  had  taken  good  care  of  me  in  the 
matter  of  committees  and,  for  all  I  knew,  he 
was  doing  business  on  the  square.  Conse 
quently,  I  generally  consulted  him  on  anything 
important  that  came  up  and,  with  few  excep 
tions,  acted  on  his  advice.  Probably  some  of 

452 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

the  other  fellows  put  it  that  I  took  my  orders 
from  him. 

One  day  he  came  to  me  and  said :  "  Here's 
a  bill  for  the  opening  of  a  street  through  the 
property  of  a  widow,  in  Riverville;  I've  talked 
with  a  fellow  from  there  who  says  they're  try 
ing  to  do  her.  Now,  I'm  not  much  of  a  philan 
thropist,  but  my  mother  was  a  widow  and  I  like 
to  see  all  of  'em  get  a  good  fair  shake." 

"  All  right,"  I  replied.  "  I'm  not  very  busy 
and  I'll  see  the  boys  and  ask  them  to  help 
knock  it  out." 

In  a  short  time  I  had  enough  votes  herded 
to  kill  out  the  measure.  Then  it  passed  out  of 
my  recollection  altogether. 

A  little  later  a  mighty  innocent  looking  bill 
incorporating  a  bridge  company  with  rights  to 
construct  a  bridge  across  one-half  the  big 
stream  at  Riverville  had  slipped  through  first 
and  second  reading.  Somehow  I  just  hap 
pened  to  notice  it  one  day  and  began  to  sus 
pect  that  there  was  a  crooked  streak  behind  it. 
I  knew  old  Simon  Burns,  the  king  pin  of  River 
ville  politics,  and,  on  the  impulse  of  the  mo- 

453 


TATTLINGS  OF 


ment,  I  wired  him  to  know  if  some  of  the  fel 
lows  weren't  getting  meat  out  of  it.  He  an 
swered:  "You  bet.  Don't  let  her  slip 
through.  I'll  be  there  tomorrow." 

There  was  a  circus  in  town  when  old  Simon 
arrived  and  a  good  many  of  the  livelier  mem 
bers  were  absent  from  the  House  watching  the 
girls  in  gauze  shoot  themselves  through  the 
hoops. 

"  We'll  spoil  the  fun  of  that  bunch  over 
the  river,  all  right,"  said  Simon.  "They're 
mostly  from  across  the  state  line  anyway. 
Just  move  the  amendment  that  I've  fixed  up 
and  we'll  make  their  cake  into  dough  in  a  jiffy." 

The  amendment  simply  substituted  for  the 
original  incorporators  the  names  of  a  bunch  of 
solid  business  men  in  Riverville. 

I  saw  that  the  right  minute  had  come  and 
I  sprung  the  amendment  without  waiting  for 
another  word  of  explanation.  It  went  through 
by  unanimous  consent,  as  slick  as  grease,  and 
that  settled  it.  I  thought  nothing  more  about 
it  excepting  to  enjoy  the  joke  on  the  fellows 
who  had  hatched  the  measure  and  left  it  with- 

454 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 


out  a  home  guard  while  they  went  to  the 
circus. 

About  a  fortnight  after  the  close  of  the  ses 
sion,  when  I  was  wondering  where  my  next 
law  case  would  come  from  and  how  I  would 
pay  the  office  rent,  I  received  a  telegram  from 
old  Simon  telling  me  to  come  at  once  to  River- 
ville.  He  wasn't  given  to  sending  out  any 
false  alarms  and  so  I  responded.  From  his 
place  he  took  he  into  a  new  building,  to  an 
office  that  looked  spanfired  new  and  as  neat  as 
wax.  Pointing  to  a  handsome  walnut  desk  he 
said: 

"  Young  man,  that's  your  desk.  You're  the 
general  counsel  of  the  Riverville  Bridge  & 
Iron  Company  and  your  job  is  to  keep  the 
company  out  of  trouble  until  the  construction 
work  is  finished.  The  salary  will  be  $100  a 
month — and  by  the  looks  of  things  I  guess 
you're  likely  to  earn  it  all  right.  If  you  can't 
keep  the  coast  clear  we'll  lift  you  out  bodily 
and  get  some  one  who  can,  in  double  quick 
time.  All  you've  got  to  do  now  is  to  wait  for 
something  to  happen.  Better  put  in  your 

455 


TATTLINGS  OF 


leisure  time  talking  with  the  superintendent 
and  getting  an  idea  of  what  has  been  done 
and  what's  likely  to  turn  up." 

Just  then  a  hundred  dollars  a  month  looked 
bigger  to  me  than  a  thousand  does  now  and 
I  was  mighty  anxious  to  hold  down  that  job> 
I  can  tell  you.  The  second  day  of  my  stay,  be 
fore  I  had  more  than  located  the  points  of  the 
compass,  a  fellow  came  rushing  into  the  office, 
shouting  for  the  "  lawyer  man."  After  he'd 
caught  his  breath  I  managed  to  get  out  of  him 
that  the  company's  whole  force  of  workmen 
had  been  arrested  on  a  charge  of  riot  and  were 
on  their  way  to  a  justice  shop,  down  the  river. 

Of  course,  I  knew  this  was  a  move  of  the 
men  who  had  put  up  the  scheme  in  the  first 
place  and  who  had  been  knocked  out  by  my 
amendment  to  the  legislative  bill  of  incorpora 
tion.  When  I  reached  the  justice  shop,  I  found 
it  packed  and  the  lawyer  for  the  other  side 
waiting  to  open  up  the  legal  battle.  The  law 
was  as  plainly  on  our  side  of  the  case  as  my 
nose  is  on  the  front  side  of  my  face,  but  as  fast 
as  I  could  put  up  the  legal  points,  in  the  pre- 
456 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

liminary  skirmish,  the  justice  proceeded  to 
turn  them  down.  There's  some  chance  of  get 
ting  an  opening  with  a  packed  jury — but  with 
a  packed  justice  of  the  peace  the  unanimity 
of  opposition  is  not  only  oppressive  but  over 
whelming. 

It  didn't  take  me  long  to  figure  that  my  sal 
ary  of  $100  a  month  was  the  real  issue  in  the 
case  and  that  I'd  get  my  dismissal  in  short 
order  unless  I  could  take  a  new  twist  on  the 
case — and  take  it  mighty  suddenly.  Under  the 
circumstances  that  "  assured  income  "  loomed 
up  on  my  mental  horizon  like  a  lighthouse  in 
a  fog.  I  did  some  quick  thinking  and  decided 
that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  spar  for  time 
in  the  hope  that  some  way  out  would  open  up 
in  the  natural  course  of  proceedings.  On  this 
plan  I  jockeyed  along  and  took  occasion  to 
contest  every  move  and  statement  brought 
forward  by  the  opposition. 

The  fight  had  been  drawn  out  by  this  plan 
of  petty  skirmishing  for  about  an  hour  with 
out  the  slightest  change  in  the  situation,  when 
a  man  leaned  over  my  shoulder  and  said: 

457 


TATTLINGS  OF 


*  Well,  Bradley,  how  are  you  making  it?  " 

For  my  life  I  couldn't  call  the  fellow's  name, 
although  his  face  was  familiar. 

"  Can't  quite  place  me,  eh?  "  he  continued. 
"  I'm  Sam  Evans — served  in  the  last  House  but 
didn't  make  any  particular  noise,  so  I  don't 
blame  you.  But  what  about  this  case?  " 

"  The  cards  are  all  stacked  against  me — the 
judge  knocks  out  every  point  I  raise  without 
regard  to  rhyme  or  reason.  I  guess  the  other 
side  has  got  him  all  right — and  this  little  fight 
makes  a  whole  lot  of  difference  to  me,  too." 

"  It  does,  eh?  "  he  answered.  "  Well,  I  can 
tell  you  that  if  the  judge  knew  you  he  would 
give  you  a  fair  chance  all  right." 

With  this  Evans  left  me,  went  forward  to 
the  judge's  desk,  chatted  a  moment  with  him 
and  then  beckoned  me  to  come  to  the  desk. 

"Judge  Heifer,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to 
know  my  friend  and  colleague,  Mr.  Bradley. 
He's  the  man  who  knocked  out  the  bill  in  the 
legislature,  to  grab  off  the  widow's  property 
by  putting  that  street  through  it." 

"  Glad   to  meet   you,   sir,"   responded   the 

458 


Proceedings  were  interrupted  by 
an  introduction  to  the  justice. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

Judge.  "  That  bill  was  a  most  infamous  at 
tempt  to  rob  my  sister  of  her  rights — but  I  sup 
pose  we  must  go  on  with  the  case  now." 

For  a  few  minutes  the  opposing  lawyer 
seemed  to  have  things  his  own  way,  but  sud 
denly,  when  a  vital  point  arose,  the  Judge 
gave  him  a  knock-out  ruling.  My  heart  gave 
a  new  thump  of  hope  and  I  took  another  grip 
on  the  salary  proposition.  In  an  hour  the 
tussle  was  over  and  I  came  out  with  a  slick 
and  clean  victory.  As  I  walked  back  to  the 
office  the  old  saying,  "  kissing  goes  by  favor," 
kept  running  through  my  mind  like  the  lines  of 
an  old  song. 

Later  I  had  the  nub  of  that  saying  rubbed 
into  me  good  and  hard.  It  was  the  winter 
when  old  Shellbark  was  governor.  He  could 
spit  tobacco  juice  farther  than  any  man  on  the 
state  payroll  and  he  could  certainly  read  and 
write  in  a  fashion  of  his  own — but  he  didn't 
take  to  either  of  those  pursuits  just  by  way  of 
pastime,  for  that  sort  of  scholarly  exercise  was 
too  much  like  work  for  him.  Consequently  he 


TATTLINGS  OF 


was  inclined  to  get  as  much  help  as  possible 
along  those  lines. 

That  session  the  General  Assembly  ground 
out  more  bills  than  were  ever  put  through  the 
Senate  and  House  before  at  any  sitting.  There 
were  simply  hundreds  of  them  and  they  were 
carried  over  to  the  Executive  Mansion  in 
bushel  baskets.  Among  those  bills  I  had  a 
measure  that  the  people  of  my  district  wanted 
hard.  It  was  straight  as  a  die,  although  local 
in  its  application.  During  the  whole  session 
I  had  consistently  put  in  my  time  snuffing  out 
the  loaded  measures  that  came  up — and  it  so 
happened  that  a  good  share  of  those  that  I  suc 
ceeded  in  burying  were  engineered  by  Wash 
Peters,  a  little  freckled  runt  of  a  for-revenue- 
only  statesman  from  a  slum  district,  up  in  the 
city.  Naturally  my  pernicious  activity  made 
him  sore  and  he  swore  he'd  get  even  with  me 
before  the  game  was  finished.  It  made  him 
especially  mad  when  the  boys  gave  me  the 
name  of  "  the  snake  killer." 

After  the  session  was  closed  I  thought  that 
everything  was  snug  and  safe  and  so  I  went 

462 


t 


The  Governor  had  help  in  pass 
ing  on  legislative  bills. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

home  on  the  first  train.  But  Wash  was  in  no 
hurry.  He  hung  around  the  Executive  Man 
sion  with  his  side  partner  and  managed  to  be 
on  hand  that  afternoon  when  the  Governor 
sat  down  to  tackle  the  last  bushel  basket  of 
bills.  Shellbark  sighed  as  he  started  in  on  his 
long  job  arid  found  the  reading  mighty  slow 
work.  Finally  Wash  casually  remarked : 

"  Governor,  if  Ed  and  I  can  give  you  a  lift 
by  reading  off  them  bills  and  handing  'em  up 
to  you,  we're  at  your  service- — don't  want  to 
crowd  the  mourners  at  all  but " 

"Sure!"  interrupted  old  Shellbark,  "draw 
right  up  and  give  me  a  boost." 

In  a  short  time  the  two  volunteer  helpers 
were  simply  reading  the  titles  and  before  the 
basket  was  half  emptied  the  Governor  was 
signing  bills  on  the  say-so  of  the  boys,  and 
about  as  fast  as  they  could  hand  them  up.  Oc 
casionally  they  would  strike  one  that  they 
knew  the  Governor  was  not  in  sympathy  with 
and  it  would  be  handed  over  with  the  remark 
"  Here's  a  snake." 

Along  towards  the  last  Wash  struck  my  pet 

465 


TATTLINGS  OF 


bill,  and  quietly  passed  it  over  to  Shellbark 
with  the  crisp  comment :  "  Another  snake." 

"  Killed,"  answered  the  Governor  as  he  put 
his  veto  upon  it  and  reached  out  for  the  next 
document. 

Those  two  scoundrels  did  more  work  that 
afternoon  at  the  Governor's  desk  than  they'd 
done  in  a  week — but  they  taught  me  another 
lesson  in  kissing  by  favor  as  a  fine  art. 

When  you  get  right  down  to  brass  tacks 
there's  a  whole  heap  of  variety  in  this  kissing 
business,  and  I  never  was  more  impressed  with 
this  than  by  the  experience  of  Lemuel  Horton, 
who  looked  after  the  legal  interests  of  a  big 
corporation  up  in  the  city.  He  was  as  bright 
as  a  new  tin  dipper  but  hadn't  had  any  par 
ticular  experience  in  greasing  legislation.  The 
boys  got  out  after  his  company  with  a  healthy 
assortment  of  sandbags  and  he  was  sent  down 
to  kill  off  the  bill.  Like  a  good  many  of  the 
reformers  he  failed  to  take  into  consideration 
the  fact  that  kissing  goes  by  favor  and  he  cal 
culated  that  it  was  a  plain  matter  of  buy  and 
sell  from  start  to  finish. 

One  of  the  first  men  he  struck  was  "  Bull  * 

466 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 


Kelly,  a  senator  who  held  the  whiphand  in 
most  of  the  underground  work. 

"  You  need  just  four  more  votes  in  the  Sen 
ate,"  said  Bull,  "  to  kill  out  the  measure.  I'll 
see  the  right  fellows  and  tell  you  tonight  just 
what  it'll  take  to  cover  the  bunch." 

That  night  he  reported  that  $5,000  would 
do  the  business  and  that  the  necessary  "  Texas 
steers"  had  been  rounded  up  on  that  basis. 
The  money  was  paid  to  Bull  and  the  bill  was 
sidetracked. 

When  the  session  was  over,  Lawyer  Horton 
was  one  day  surprised  to  receive  a  call  from  a 
go-between  who  intimated  that  some  of  the 
senators  who  killed  the  objectionable  bill  had 
a  powerful  poor  opinion  of  the  way  one  Lemuel 
Horton  played  the  game. 

Now  Horton  was  a  sticker  for  honor  accord 
ing  to  his  lights  and  he  immediately  invited 
Bull  and  the  three  senators  whose  votes  had 
been  delivered  to  meet  him  in  a  certain  res 
taurant.  They  all  entered  appearance,  had  a 
good  dinner  and  were  just  on  the  point  of  leav 
ing  when  Horton  turned  to  Bull,  and  looking 
him  straight  in  the  eye  asked: 

467 


TATTLINGS  OF 


"  Did  I  give  you  $5,000  for  your  own  vote 
and  that  of  these  three  men?  " 

Without  batting  an  eye  Bull  replied: 

«  Sure  you  did." 

"  And  did  you  pass  any  of  £t  along  to  them?  " 

"  Not  on  your  life!  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that 
I  wouldn't  insult  the  honor  of  these  gentlemen 
by  offering  them  a  bribe.  I  asked  them  to  vote 
against  that  bill  just  to  oblige  a  friend  and 
they  said  they'd  do  it.  And  they  did  it,  too, 
There  isn't  a  stain  upon  their  honor,  sir,  as  big 
as  a  fly  speck  and  I'll  defend  them  against  the 
slanders  of  the  world" 

Then,  with  a  smile,  Bull  buttoned  up  his 
coat,  said  "  Good  bye,  boys,"  and  walked  out 
of  the  door — fairly  chuckling  at  the  faces, 
blank  with  astonishment,  that  he  left  behind 
him. 

No,  Ned,  the  history  of  legislation  can't  be 
written  without  due  attention  to  the  text  of 
"kissing  by  favor,"  and  those  who  overlook 
this  fact  have  yet  to  learn  the  game* 
Yours  as  ever, 

William  Bradley 


"I  wouldn't  insult  the  honor  of 
these  gentlemen  by  offering  them  a 
bribe  " 


THE  GAME  AND  THE 
CANDLE. 


Ned  has  been  elevated  to  the 
United  States  Senate  and  Will 
iam  Bradley  is  much  moved  by 
this  big  jump  on  the  part  of  his 
protege.  The  old  Governor  cog 
itates  on  the  question  "Is  the 
game  worth  the  candle"  and 
concludes  that  it  is  "If  you  play 
it  square."  Also  he  tells  a  story 
and  points  the  moral:  "Don't 
get  toppy;  don't  get  sloppy,  and 
don't  forget  to  put  out  an  anchor 
to  the  windward." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE. 

Brokenstraw  Ranch,  ,  19 — . 

Dear  Ned:— 

Whew !  but  how  things  do  move !  It  doesn't 
seem  but  a  few  months  ago  when  you  were  all 
torn  up  the  back  over  the  prospect  of  going 
to  Congress.  Now,  before  you've  fairly  had 
time  to  acquire  the  Washington  habit  and  get 
a  line  on  the  main  features  of  the  landscape, 
the  senior  Senator  from  your  state  up  and  dies 
and  your  Governor  promptly  appoints  you  to 
fill  the  vacancy,  with  four  years  of  unexpired 
term  to  your  credit. 

Of  course  it  wouldn't  look  well  in  print,  and 
I'll  have  to  haul  you  over  the  coals  a  good 
many  times  to  offset  it,  but  I'm  moved  to  re 
mark,  Ned,  that  the  part  these  two  statesmen 
have  played  in  your  promotion  constitutes,  in 
my  opinion,  the  most  distinguished  and  useful 
service  they  have  ever  rendered  their  state  or 

473 


TATTLINGS  OF 


the  nation  at  large — and  I've  known  them  both 
fairly  well  for  a  good  many  years,  at  that. 

When  I  opened  your  telegram  I  flung  my 
hat  to  the  top  of  the  haystack  and  let  out  a 
regular  old-time  campaign  yell.  Then  I  went 
out  to  the  cottonwood  grove  and  sat  down  on 
my  "  drumming  log "  to  think  things  over. 
And  as  the  breeze  had  fun  with  the  leaves 
and  the  sun  snuggled  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
horizon  line,  I  couldn't  help  doing  a  little  figur 
ing  on  the  old  question:  Is  the  game  worth 
the  candle? 

After  due  debate  I'm  prepared  to  answer: 
Yes — if  you  play  it  square!  And,  as  Sister 
Buck  used  to  say  in  conference  meeting,  if  I 
know  my  own  heart  I'm  ready  to  answer  at 
the  last  roll-call  for  the  deeds  in  the  body. 
Occasionally  I've  come  dangerously  near  fight 
ing  the  devil  with  fire  and  I've  showed  traces 
of  Indian  blood  at  times,  but  I've  played  the 
game  square  according  to  Hoyle,  and  I  say  it 
without  shame.  Some  good  people  have  only 
one  rule  for  playing  the  game  of  politics — and 

474 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

that  is :  Don't  play  it  at  all.  On  that  basis  I 
confess  judgment;  but  not  on  any  other. 

I've  kept  a  close  watch  on  you,  Ned,  right 
from  the  start,  and  I'll  confess  that  you've 
stood  the  test  straight  from  the  beginning. 
According  to  my  notion  you've  touched  the 
top  notch  in  American  politics  for  any  man 
who  has  sense  enough  to  know  that  he's 
neither  weak  enough  nor  strong  enough  to 
become  President.  For  a  real,  live  statesman, 
a  seat  in  the  United  States  Senate  is  as  fine  a 
field  in  which  to  start  a  furrow  as  he  could 
find.  But  even  there,  you  can't  shut  your  eyes 
to  snags  ahead  and  you'll  have  to  face  several 
of  them. 

Did  you  ever  stop  to  think  that  just  two 
epitaphs  will  fit  the  tombstones  of  nine-tenths 
of  the  politicians  and  statesmen  that  ever  lived 
or  will  ever  die?  One  is  "Kicked  out"  and 
the  other  is  "  Dead."  The  number  of  those 
who  have  played  the  game  and  retired  from 
choice  wouldn't  make  up  into  a  respectable 
snap  caucus.  The  next  four  years  will  go  past 
you  like  a  scared  jack  rabbit  and  then  you'll  be 

475 


TATTLINGS  OF 


a  heap  fiercer  for  a  return  to  the  Senate  than 
you  were  for  the  appointment  you've  just 
landed. 

You'll  hanker  for  "  vindication  at  the  hands 
of  the  people "  as  the  hart  panteth  for  the 
waterbrooks — and  besides  that  you'll  be 
loaded  up  with  more  unfinished  business  than 
an  open  session  of  a  woman's  club.  Of  course, 
right  now  you  feel  pretty  sure  of  your  ground 
and  the  snags  ahead  are  as  far  below  the  angle 
of  your  vision  as  a  divorce  is  to  the  bride  who 
hasn't  shaken  the  rice  out  of  her  new  clothes. 
But  just  let  your  Uncle  Bill  offer  a  suggestion 
or  two  that  may  come  in  handy  four  years  from 
now,  when  the  legislature  meets  to  divide  your 
garments. 

Don't  get  toppy;  don't  get  sloppy;  and 
don't  forget  to  put  out  a  few  sheet  anchors  to 
the  windward. 

Along  at  the  beginning  of  my  legislative  ser 
vice  I  had  a  mighty  poor  spell,  weighed  just 
a  little  more  than  my  shadow  and  found  it 
hard  sledding  to  sit  up  and  take  notice  during 
the  day  time.  I  guess  I  looked  like  one  of 

476 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

Uncle  Seth  Wheeler's  lattice- work  horses  after 
being  turned  out  to  browse  on  hazel-brush  for 
a  winter.  We  had  a  new  Speaker  that  session 
and  he  came  to  me,  right  at  the  start,  and  said: 

"  Young  man,  you've  got  to  favor  yourself 
or  you'll  go  under.  Here's  a  key  to  my  private 
room.  There's  a  big  lounge  in  there  and  I 
want  you  to  make  good  use  of  it.  Don't  be 
afraid  that  something'll  slip  through  on  the 
floor  that  you're  interested  in.  I'll  keep  a  sharp 
eye  out  for  you  and  when  you're  needed  I'll 
send  a  page  after  you." 

That  act  of  thoughtfulness  went  right  home 
to  me,  for  I  wasn't  cutting  any  wide  swath 
then,  our  party  had  a  big  working  majority 
and  I  had  been  for  another  man  for  Speaker 
in  the  caucus.  In  fact,  Fire-eater — as  we  called 
the  Speaker — hadn't  much  to  gain  by  any  at 
tentions  paid  to  me,  and  so  I  gave  him  credit 
for  plain  friendliness  without  any  discount  on 
the  score  of  policy.  And  everything  he  did 
proved  that  he  wasn't  toppy  or  inclined  to 
throw  his  front  feet.  Well,  I  used  his  room 

477 


TATTLINGS  OF 


and  saved  my  strength  when  I  needed  all  of  it 
I  could  muster. 

The  next  year  we  were  due  to  elect  a  United 
States  Senator  and  things  were  badly  cut  up  on 
party  lines,  especially  in  the  city.  I  stood  in 
with  the  big  man  in  city  politics  and  he  let  me 
have  my  way  about  a  good  many  things  and 
listened  to  my  advice  about  others.  There 
was  one  district  in  which  we'd  never  elected 
a  man  and  couldn't  hope  to.  One  of  the  Crane 
boys,  from  my  home  town,  had  settled  there 
and  was  running  a  big  tin  shop.  He  was 
strong  with  the  Labor  element  and  took  a 
lively  interest  in  politics. 

"  Tom,"  I  said  to  him  one  day,  "  how  would 
you  like  to  go  to  the  State  Senate?  " 

"Why,  of  course  I'd  like  to— but  I  never 
thought  of  it  as  possible." 

"  But  it  is,"  I  answered.  "  You  get  the 
Labor  nomination  and  I'll  see  to  it  that  enough 
of  our  men  vote  for  you  to  beat  the  enemy. 
We  can't  elect  a  man  outright,  but  our  votes, 
combined  with  your  own  party  strength,  will 
put  you  through  all  right." 

4/8 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

He  was  wise  enough  to  know  that  there  was 
something  behind  this  move  and  so  he  came 
straight  out  and  asked: 

"And  then,  what?" 

"  Just  this :  if  we  need  your  vote  for  a  good 
man  for  United  States  Senator  you'll  give  it 
when  I  say  the  word — and  not  till  then." 

"  All  right.  I  guess  I  can  trust  you  for 
that,"  he  said.  He  landed  the  nomination  and 
the  votes  I  threw  his  way  elected  him. 

The  first  count  of  noses  when  the  new  mem 
bers  were  rounded  up  on  the  skirmish  for  or 
ganization  showed  that  we  had  just  enough 
votes,  to  a  man,  to  elect.  But  one  of  the  sen 
ators,  who  had  been  in  the  House  where  Fire- 
eater  had  given  him  a  deserved  snub,  gave  it 
out  that  he  wasn't  going  into  the  caucus  for, 
if  the  former  Speaker  should  get  the  party 
nomination,  he  wouldn't  vote  for  him  under 
any  consideration  and  all  kingdom-come 
couldn't  force  him  to,  either. 

As  I  was  chairman  of  the  State  Central  Com 
mittee,  it  was  up  to  me  to  bring  him  into  line 
and,  at  first,  I  tried  persuasion.  But  the  more 

479 


TATTLINGS  OF 


I  argued  the  higher  he  tilted  his  nose  and  the 
louder  he  swore  that  he'd  stand  out  'till  grass 
sprouted  again. 

The  morning  after  the  gathering  of  the 
clans  at  the  capitol  Fire-eater  sat  down  at  my 
table  in  the  hotel  and  told  stories  all  through 
the  breakfast.  As  we  arose  he  said :  "  Bill, 
I'd  like  to  see  you  up  in  my  room  sometime 
this  morning." 

"  All  right,"  I  responded,  "  but  there's  one 
thing  I  want  to  say  to  you  now." 

"  No,"  he  interrupted,  "  save  it  'till  later." 

"  But  I  don't  wish  to,"  I  insisted.  "  You 
haven't  said  a  word  to  me  about  your  position 
on  the  Senatorial  fight,  and  before  you  do  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  that  I'm — for  you !  " 

He  grabbed  my  hand  with  a  squeeze  that 
made  me  cringe  and  said : 

"  Never  mind,  about  coming  to  the  room. 
Just  tell  me  if  you've  got  a  list  of  our  new  fel 
lows." 

I  handed  him  out  the  document  and  his  eye 
took  in  the  names  with  a  sweep.  Then  he 

480 


The    Senatorial    candidate   was 
overjoyed  at  the  announcement. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

pulled  three  letters  out  of  his  pocket  and  filled 
in  the  post  office  address,  commenting : 

"  These  were  the  only  ones  I  missed  out  of 
the  bunch.  All  the  others  are  reading  their 
letters  of  congratulation  by  this  time." 

That  was  Fire-eater  all  over !  He  was  right 
on  the  dot  every  time.  The  old  Senator  put  in 
his  appearance  two  days  later  and  said :  "  Give 
me  a  copy  of  the  list  in  the  next  few  days — no 
hurry."  And,  seeing  he  felt  that  way  about 
it,  I  didn't  hurry,  either. 

Well,  Fire-eater  skinned  him  to  death  in  the 
caucus,  and  then  the  lime  light  shifted  to  the 
obstreperous  State  Senator  who  had  staid  out 
of  the  caucus,  breathing  threatenings  and 
slaughter  against  the  regular  nominee. 

No  one  of  the  men  in  the  party  beside  my 
self  knew  of  the  card  that  I  held  up  my  sleeve 
in  the  shape  of  my  friend  the  Labor  senator. 
First  I  made  sure  he  would  stand  up  to  the 
rack  if  I  called  him — then  I  went  up  to  the 
bolter's  room  for  a  little  chat. 

When  I  asked  him  if  he  hadn't  concluded 

483 


TATTLINGS  OF 


to  back  into  the  fills  and  be  good  he  bawled 
out: 

"Never!" 

"  Look  here,"  I  came  back  at  him,  "  You'll 
vote  for  him— and  on  the  first  ballot,  too,  by 
Mighty!  And  after  that  you'll  get  just  what's 
coming  to  you,  which  is  small  potatoes.  You'll 
shed  your  importance  in  about  a  minute." 

Meantime  the  situation  was  strung  up 
tighter  than  the  G-string  of  a  fiddle  and  the 
one  who  felt  the  strain  most  was  the  little  wife 
of  Fire-eater.  She  was  in  the  gallery  when  the 
show-down  came  in  the  shape  of  the  roll-call. 
Tom's  name  came  before  the  upstart  Senator's. 
I  walked  to  the  tinsmith's  desk  and  simply 
whispered  to  him:  "Pass  for  the  present." 
As  the  bolter  saw  me  do  this  his  face  turned 
gray  with  rage.  Then  his  name  was  called. 
He  stood  up,  balked,  and  finally  said:  "  Under 

protest  and  in  the  interest  of  harmony " 

The  little  woman  in  the  gallery  jumped  plumb 
out  of  her  seat  when  the  renegade  voted — and 
he  was  never  allowed  to  finish  his  explanation. 

"  I've  a  good  notion  to  vote  with  you  any- 
484 


"You'll   vote  for    him — and  on 
the  first  ballot,  too,  by  Afightyf" 


"The  little  woman  jumped  plumb 
out  of  her  seat  when  the  renegade 
voted. 


A  RETIRED  POLITICIAN 

way,"  Tom  said  to  me  as  the  applause  died 
down,  but  I  told  him  to  hold  off  as  it  wasn't 
necessary  to  go  against  his  party. 

For  the  rest  of  the  session  I  took  solid  com 
fort  in  handing  out  sackcloth  and  ashes  in 
liberal  portions  to  that  renegade  Senator  who 
tried  to  throw  us — and  when  he  came  up  for 
re-election  I  finished  up  the  job  by  seeing  that 
he  was  left  at  home.  But  it  always  scared  me 
to  think  of  what  would  have  happened  to  us 
that  year  if  I  hadn't  put  out  an  anchor  to  the 
windward  in  the  way  of  the  deal  that  elected 
the  little  tinsmith  to  the  State  Senate  on  the 
Labor  ticket. 

Remember  some  of  these  things  when  you 
face  the  fight  four  years  from  now — and  don't 
forget  to  let  me  know  when  you're  going  to 
make  your  maiden  speech  in  the  Senate — for 
I  want  to  be  on  hand.  And  tell  the  wife  I'm 
not  a  bit  ashamed  of  the  boy  who  dodged  the 
widow  and  has  patiently  stood  for  a  whole  lot 
of  advice  from  an  old  stager. 
Yours  ever, 

William  Bradley. 

487 


• 


